That Kind of Woman (36 page)

Miranda pulled the skirt wide and curtsied. “I thought that you would appreciate it!” The ball gown had been made for Barbara, but altered for Miranda, and was made of rich, wine-colored silk trimmed in gold ribbon and embroidery. The square neckline was cut dangerously low, and a ruby pendant dangled provocatively between the mounds that swelled above it.

“Gr-grand…ma…ma…will…faint. Per-perfect!” Emma replied, her eyes sparkling at the delicious impropriety of her aunt’s wedding gown.

She glanced down happily at her own dress. It was a dramatic shade of sapphire blue—entirely inappropriate for a girl Emma’s age. Miranda and Andrew’s engagement hadn’t been long enough to order wedding attire for everyone. In fact, most of the wedding plans had been lost in coaxing Emma’s recovery along. Miranda had to smile at the memory of Emma’s excitement when she had been told that she could choose any gown she wished from Miranda’s wardrobe to be remade for her. This one, too, had been low-cut, but by the time it was altered for Emma, the neckline had come up quite a bit. Now it was too low for a young girl, by Society’s standards, but didn’t really reveal much of her budding bosom. Emma was in heaven!

A faint tapping sounded on her door, and Lizzie went to answer. The maid called Miranda over and told her that Malfrey awaited her in the sitting room. The timing was good, Miranda thought, as she slipped through the door between the two rooms. She needed Malfrey to carry Emma downstairs and then out to the carriage for the ride to the church.

“My lady,” the butler said, “Mister Toller came to call. I invited him in, of course, but he insisted he could not stay and did not wish you to be called downstairs. He asked me to give this to you.” He handed her a box tied with a pale blue ribbon.

“Reggie is here? But he must come to the wedding then!” She ran to the door to the hallway. “Will you take Miss Emma downstairs? I will be along presently.”

Still clutching the box, she ran down the stairs and out the front door. A second carriage sat on the front drive, behind the one that was to take her to the church. Reggie leaned casually against one of the pillars, the chill of the mid-December evening seeming to have no effect on him, though it cut immediately through Miranda’s silk. Light spilled from the window across the front porch.

“How did I know you wouldn’t listen when I said you were not to come down?”

She smiled at him. “You said no such thing. You said I was not to be called down. I came down quite on my own. You are just in time for the wedding.”

“I cannot imagine I am welcome.”

“You are my dearest friend—”

“I never doubted
your
welcome.”

“Andrew is—well, he is coming to terms with it.”

“Let’s not push it, then.”

She glanced down and shivered a little against the cold. “I suppose not.”

Reggie nodded to the box in her hand. “I just wanted you to have a little token.”

She lifted it and untied the ribbon. “There was no need—” She made a soft sound deep in her throat when she pulled the gift from the box. It was a delicate white handkerchief, its border elaborately embroidered in varying shades of pink and trimmed with lace. “Roses,” she whispered.

“If either of us could have loved a woman, Miranda, I daresay you would have been the end of our friendship.”

“It doesn’t seem right, somehow, to have this happiness while you—tell me, is there anyone?”

Reggie shook his head. “I’m not ready. But I
am
happy, darling, for you. And somewhere, so is George. I’m on my way to some friends’ for the holidays, but I’ll be back in London before spring. Come and visit when you are in Town.”

She nodded, shivering harder. “I will.”

“Go inside! You cannot get married with those lovely lips all blue. It doesn’t suit you!” He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek. Then Miranda turned and went back inside while Reggie climbed into his carriage.

Once in the foyer, Miranda could hear her mother, Lettie, and Emma in the drawing room, and she joined them there. Andrew, Henry, and Montheath had gone ahead to the church. There would be several neighbors and most of the tenants attending, as well. The Throckmortons would be there, which meant Henry would spend the preponderance of the night fawning over Amelia. Miranda’s fancy spun another December wedding, Henry and Amelia’s. They could live at Danford, and their children could grow up with hers and Andrew’s, practically brothers and sisters, like Henry and Emma had been. She had to chuckle. She was getting ahead of herself.

And in the end, it was Miranda whose jaw dropped at the sight of Lettie, resplendent in a deep-cut gown of emerald green, her prodigious bosom threatening to spill over the top. She smiled broadly and smoothed the skirt. “This was your mother’s doing, I’ll have you know. She said this was to be the most scandalous wedding ever.”

“Once I assured her we would wear shawls in the church,” Barbara explained, breathtaking in deep violet, “Lady Danford agreed to humor us.”

“Well,” Lettie said, “it isn’t as though anyone important will see us. Although, come to think of it, I may have to tell Lady Worthington every detail, just to watch her mouth drop open. We were all just about to troop outside to get you. Whatever were you doing out there?”

“Just getting a bit of air.”

“All the excitement,” Lettie commiserated, patting her hand. “No need to be nervous.”

“I’m not in the least,” Miranda replied. “I have never been more certain in my life.”

It was a production, getting Emma into the carriage and settling all of their skirts. The ride was raucous with Barbara’s ribald teasing and, at first, Lettie’s pursed-lip chastising about the impressionable child in the carriage with them. In the end, Lettie had to give in and join in the banter, despite Emma, who absorbed every word, even if she couldn’t talk fast enough to keep up with them.

Here and there, hot-house roses were settled in amid evergreen boughs, filling the candlelit church with a sweet-and-spicy aroma. Andrew and his best man, Henry, waited at the altar, while Montheath escorted Miranda down the aisle. Emma sat in the front pew, and Lettie helped her to rise and join Miranda on Montheath’s other arm once they reached her. Frequent bouts of dizziness still plagued her, but she managed the few steps to the chancel, then sat in the chair that had been placed there for her as the maid-of-honor.

The first time she had said them, Miranda hadn’t realized just how powerful wedding vows were. Andrew’s green eyes held hers as he swore to love her and cherish her for the rest of their lives. His voice was strong and sure, his hands steady as he slipped the golden ring over her finger. Tears welled in her eyes as she made her pledge in kind.

And then they were husband and wife, sealing their troth with a kiss that was perfectly appropriate for the setting but seethed with promised passion, and Miranda’s heart sped up.

The wedding dinner was held at Danford, the long table in the formal dining room filled with more people than had ever sat at it with Miranda before. Lettie sat at one end, as the hostess, and Miranda sat with Andrew at the other. Emma sat across from her, but Henry had managed to ignore his assigned place next to his niece in favor of sitting across from Amelia Throckmorton. Barbara and Montheath were seated with Amelia’s parents. Conversation flowed as freely as the wine, without a trace of spite or malice. Miranda couldn’t remember a gathering so enjoyable since she had left the Continent. Andrew placed his hand on hers, and she looked up into his smoldering gaze. She smiled at him and turned her hand palm up, their fingers interlacing.

Andrew leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Is this party never going to end?”

The feel of his breath sent shivers of excitement down her neck. “We could find some conveniently vacant corner somewhere,” she replied softly.

He chuckled, and the rich sound of it poured over her like warm honey. “Oh, no, my dear, when I finally do get you alone, I intend to take my time.”

“I…can…h-hear…you,” Emma said, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

Miranda took a long look at her stepdaughter. Emma’s fair skin seemed paler than usual, and the brightness in her eyes was beginning to fade. “I think you should go upstairs to bed, dear. It has been a very busy day.”

“I…took…a…n-nap.”

“Yes, I know, but that was several hours ago. You mustn’t push too hard. I’ll have your cake sent up to you with some tea. I’ll bring it up myself. How will that be?”

Emma smiled, and her tired eyes shimmered with tears.

“What is it?” Miranda asked.

“You…s-sound…like…my…m-mother.”

“I’ll take her upstairs,” Andrew said, rising.

Miranda rose with him and turned to address the guests at their table. “Please, continue without us. As you all know, Emma is still recovering from a severe fall from her horse, and we fear that she is overtired. We are just going to tuck her in.”

Barbara stood, as well, and lifted her glass. “One last toast to the bride and groom: may your new little family grow bigger, and may you know much joy in the process.” She winked at her daughter, who shook her head in mock reproach.

“We shall return shortly,” Miranda added.

“Take your time,” Barbara replied.

*

They tucked Emma in, and Miranda doubted she would be awake by the time the maid returned with the tea and cake. They each kissed her good night and then slipped into the hall.

Before Miranda could move back toward the stairs, Andrew pulled her roughly against him, his mouth claiming hers, his tongue licking against hers like a flame. She felt her knees grow weak and start to buckle. “I have been waiting all day for that,” he said when he pulled away.

“And if you do anything like it again, I shan’t be able to wait another moment,” she replied.

So, of course, he kissed her again, and Miranda felt the heat of passion course through her veins. She pressed herself close against him and moaned softly into his mouth when his hand found her breast and kneaded it gently.

“You said you wanted to flout every ridiculous rule with this wedding,” he whispered against her lips.

“I did,” she murmured back, as he moved to nip at her lower lip.

He pressed her against the wall and thrust his hips against hers, his hardness unmistakable through the tight fabric of his trousers and the thinness of her silk gown. “What could be more scandalous than to consummate our marriage while the wedding guests make merry below?”

Miranda didn’t hesitate. She took Andrew’s hand and hurried toward his bedchamber. He was hers. Absolutely,
really
hers. There was nothing make-believe about what they were creating. There was no coachman waiting outside to take her home. She barely had the patience to make it past his sitting room.

He lit a fire in the hearth to chase away the chill in the room, and Miranda lit the lamps. Andrew watched his bride, fascinated by the way the vibrant red silk undulated and shimmered with every movement of her lithe body. He had been watching it do that all evening, ridiculously jealous that the fabric should be allowed to touch her so intimately while he had to remain on his best behavior.

He came back to her, and she reached for him, but he caught her hands in his. “We are taking our time. Just stand here.”

Andrew ran his hands over the scintillating silk that barely covered her soft, generous breasts, and he felt her nipples harden in response. His thumbs traced the naked flesh of the swells that rose above the neckline, and their rising and falling became ragged. His hands continued to roam. The warmth of her radiated through the column of silk that fell from just under her breasts to the floor. He followed the curve of her waist and stepped close against her to cup his hands over each perfectly rounded cheek of her bottom.

The feel of him was intoxicating, and Miranda shivered with desire. She felt like a goddess, cherished and adored. She lifted her face to his, and he kissed her breath away, and suddenly, breathing didn’t seem so very important. She only wanted more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss.

Slowly, his mouth never leaving hers, he unfastened her gown and pulled it from her shoulders. It fell below her breasts, and the soft wool of his jacket gently rasped her nipples, coaxing a husky moan from her throat. He bent his head and captured one of the tight crests between his teeth, his tongue flicking over it and leaving unbearable pleasure in its wake. Her hands left his neck and she dragged his coat over his shoulders, but he finally had to pull away from her to finish removing it and his waistcoat. Miranda ran her hands over the fine linen of his shirt, her fingers caressing every ripple of his abdomen, teasing his taut nipples. Deliberately, she untied his cravat and opened a deep V from his throat halfway down his chest. Then she stood on her toes and kissed the hollow at the base of his neck, licking the slightly salty flesh she had exposed.

They took their time undressing each other, each of them drinking in every detail of the flesh they revealed. When they were both naked, Andrew studied every inch of her, and she did the same. His skin glowed in the soft light; his muscles flexed with subtle, lithesome strength as he moved to scrutinize her.

She was looking over her shoulder at him when he said, “You are every bit as perfect as I remembered. Every night you were in Stafford, I couldn’t keep from tormenting myself with the memory of you. It seemed impossible that I could really know every inch of you, as I thought I did. I see now my memory was every bit as accurate as I thought. I even remembered this little mole right here.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly between the shoulder blades. How could such an innocuous gesture cause such a jolt of pure lust? she wondered.

He knelt behind her. “And here.” He nipped playfully at the tiny mark she sported on her left cheek, and her knees went weak. She turned and sank onto the bed. Andrew urged her backward, and when she was lying down he kissed her over and over again—her mouth, her eyes, her throat, her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair as he moved downward. His lips sent electricity dancing over the sensitive skin of her belly. She parted her thighs for him and she gasped and moaned as his moist, nimble tongue swept her over the edge of ecstasy.