She’d changed dresses four times before finally settling on the green merino with the black velvet trim her mother had suggested. Miranda knew she should have looked her best, for the green color did wonderful things for her creamy ivory complexion and auburn hair, but not even a morning spent beneath an avalanche of cold cucumber compresses could compensate for her swollen red eyes or her matching red nose. She glanced up at the oval mirror hanging above the mantel and grimaced. She looked exactly like what she was—a beautifully dressed woman who’d spent the night crying into her pillow.
“His Grace, the Duke of Sussex, milady.”
Miranda stood up as Crawford announced him. The sight of Daniel in his buff breeches, lawn shirt, brocade waistcoat, dark blue coat, and tall boots nearly took her breath away.
“Good afternoon, Miranda.”
The sound of his deep voice sent shivers up and down her spine. “Good afternoon, Daniel.”
“You look beautiful,” he said suddenly.
Miranda blushed. “Thank you.” She reached up and touched the corner of her eye in a self-conscious gesture that drew attention to the area she’d been desperately trying to hide. “So do you.”
Her compliment took him by surprise. “With you in your green plumage and me in my dark blue, we must resemble a proud peacock and his mate.”
“I hope not.” Miranda giggled. “For peahens are rather drab little birds.”
“Not to the peacock,” Daniel reminded her. “And there could never be anything drab about you, Miranda. Everything about you sparkles.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Miranda hesitated a brief moment before placing her hand in the bend of his elbow. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Because my mother said …”
He read the uncertainty in her eyes. “Your mother was correct. We’ve an appointment to meet Bishop Manwaring at St. Michael’s in a quarter of an hour. If we don’t hurry we’ll be late.” He escorted her out of the Blue Salon, through the entry way, out the front door, and down the steps to the coach.
“I don’t understand.”
Daniel couldn’t keep from smiling. “We’re to sign the parish register, remember?” He handed her into the coach, then climbed in behind her and settled himself on the seat beside her instead of on the opposite one.
“Of course I remember,” she told him. “I didn’t think you remembered. You didn’t give any sign of it yesterday morning …” She winced as her head bounced against the velvet squab when the coach lurched into the busy afternoon traffic.
“To my very great shame, I didn’t remember yesterday morning or the day before that.” He leaned closer and brushed the black velvet-trimmed brim of her bonnet with his lips. “I remembered this morning. Although how I could forget making you my duchess is beyond my comprehension.”
“Why should it be?” she asked. “When you made it quite clear that you didn’t want a duchess.” She turned so she could look at him. “You don’t have to do this.”
He frowned. “Do what?”
“This.” Miranda waved her arm and nearly hit him in the face with his signet ring. “It’s quite obvious that you read the article in this morning’s paper and rushed to my side to rescue me and save my reputation. But I assure you it isn’t necessary.”
“I beg to differ,” he drawled, “for it’s very necessary.”
“To protect me?” she asked. “Or you?”
Daniel lifted an eyebrow in query.
Miranda took a deep breath and slowly expelled it. “You didn’t have to marry me to ensure that your secret was safe. I would have kept it without the bonds of marriage.”
“Secret?” Daniel repeated the word as if he’d never heard it before.
“I know about your smuggling, Your Grace. I know that you command a group of men who cross the Channel and slip into France at regular intervals, and I know that you return with precious cargo and leather dispatch pouches that you deliver to the Marquess of Shepherdston.”
Daniel sat back against the seat of the coach and smiled at her, waiting for her to continue.
“You talk in your sleep.”
“I know,” he said softly. “That’s why …”
“Why you don’t trust yourself to spend an entire night with a woman, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“And now you’re blaming yourself because you’re afraid you’ve betrayed yourself and your colleagues, and that your weakness has put them and your enterprise in jeopardy. But you needn’t worry,” Miranda told him. “Because you aren’t alone. Other people talk in their sleep.”
“Name one.”
“Griffin,” Miranda announced. “Alyssa says Griffin has suffered nightmares since he returned from the Peninsula and often talks in his sleep because of them.”
“Griffin endured a year of horrors we can’t begin to imagine. I’d be surprised if he didn’t suffer from nightmares or talk in his sleep. But until I was injured, I had never endured hardship of any kind. There’s no reason for me not to rest easily at night. But …” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m as bad as my valet. Apparently I cannot be trusted with a secret either.” He met her gaze. “What did I say?”
“You called me Micah,” she told him. “And you sent me to Lord Shepherdston’s house to deliver leather dispatch pouches.”
Daniel nodded, remembering the glimpse he’d caught of Miranda in trousers and a nightshirt, and the pile of wet clothing lying in the floor of the master bedchamber of the house on Curzon Street. Men’s clothing. His clothing. Except for a nightshirt and a pair of ruined mint-green satin dancing slippers. Clothing that had never reappeared. “You went to Shepherdston’s. You put on my clothes, and you made your way from Curzon Street to Shepherdston’s house on Park Lane in a downpour to deliver the leather pouches.” He frowned. “But there weren’t any leather pouches because Micah had already delivered them.”
Miranda nodded.
“Good god, Miranda, anything could have happened to you.” Daniel raked his fingers through his hair. “If something had happened to you …” He looked at her. “Why would you do such a thing? You didn’t know Micah. Or the significance of what you were doing. Or the danger you might be facing.”
“I did it because you asked me to,” she replied simply. “Because you threatened to get out of bed and go to Shepherdston’s if I didn’t, and I couldn’t allow you to do yourself further harm.” Her hands were folded primly in her lap, and Miranda lowered her gaze and stared at them as she twisted Daniel’s signet around and around her finger. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d seen Lord Shepherdston. Or how I would have explained. But Lord Shepherdston was entertaining an early-morning guest, so I returned to Curzon Street to take care of you.”
Daniel was suddenly quite proud of the fact that he’d had the good sense to fall in love with Miranda. For who and what she was. A peeress in her own right who didn’t need to marry a title or secure a fortune, but who had made no secret of the fact that all she had ever wanted was to be his wife.
“Miranda.” Her name was as soft and as fervent as prayer upon his lips as Daniel reached over, untied the black bow beneath her chin, removed her bonnet, and tossed it onto the opposite seat, before he leaned over to kiss her.
“You don’t have to marry me,” she reminded him as soon as he stopped kissing her long enough for her to speak. “I shall always keep your secrets safe.” She stared into Daniel’s blue eyes. “I would die before I’d betray you.”
“I don’t want you to die for me,” he said softly. “I want you to live with me for the next fifty or sixty years so I can die a happy man.”
“Daniel?” She almost didn’t dare to hope.
“Hell and damnation, but you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
Miranda nodded. “And I’d rather you didn’t say it with a curse upon your lips.”
“How about with the taste of you upon my lips?” Daniel asked, moments before he kissed her again. “I love you, M
iranda,” he whispered when he pulled his lips from hers.
“Since when?” she demanded.
“The easier question would be: when haven’t I loved you?” He turned on the seat as the coach rolled into St. Michael’s Square, took Miranda’s face in his hands, and looked her in the eye. “I can’t remember a day since I met you that I didn’t find something to love about you. Your face. Your figure. Your honesty. Your directness. Your sharp tongue and quick wit. Your intelligence. Your compassion. Your dignity. Your loyalty. Your friendship. Your love.”
“You loved me yet you didn’t want to marry me?”
“I didn’t want to marry anyone except you,” he told her. “But I was young and I wanted to wait a bit.” He pursed his lips in thought. “I still had dreams I wanted to pursue and adventures to experience. I wanted to have more to offer the world than a big house and a magnificent garden.” He smiled. “I wanted to be more.”
“A smuggler?”
He nodded. “With a cargo far more valuable than brandy and lace.”
Miranda grasped his meaning. “Oh, good heavens!” she exclaimed. “You’re a …”
Daniel silenced her with a kiss. And kept her silent with kisses until the temperature in the coach reached an unbearable level and he had to fight to keep from stripping off both their clothes and making love to her in the center of St. Michael’s Square.
“Shall we make it official and restore your good name?” he asked, as she lay in his arms. “Or would you like to reconsider?”
“I would delight in having my good name restored by making it official,” she told him.
Daniel quickly helped her put her clothes to rights. He handed her her bonnet and opened the door.
Miranda settled her bonnet on her head, tied the bow under her chin, then placed her hand on his arm and allowed Daniel to accompany her into the church, where Bishop Manwaring was waiting with the parish registry.
Daniel signed his name with a flourish, then watched as Miranda did the same before shaking hands with the bishop.
“I’m afraid I need my signet back, my sweet,” Daniel whispered, reaching down to slide it off her finger and onto his before he unbuttoned her glove and tugged it off.
“You gave it to me,” she murmured in protest. “For safekeeping until you could do better.”
“Why don’t we make a trade?” Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small box. “Because I believe these will fit you much better.” He opened the box to reveal the Sussex Emerald and a gold band.
Miranda gasped. “Oh, Daniel …” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she beheld his gift. If she’d doubted that he would ever claim her, she could lay those doubts to rest, for once she wore the Sussex Emerald in public, everyone would know that she was Daniel’s chosen bride.
He lifted the rings out of the box and slipped them onto Miranda’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
Miranda extended her hand to admire the way her betrothal ring and its matching wedding band complimented her hand. “I don’t know what to say.”
He laughed. “Miranda St. Germaine at a loss for words? I don’t believe it!”
“Miranda Sussex,” she corrected, quickly finding her tongue. “And extraordinary wedding rings will do that to a girl.” She looked up at him. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I do,” Daniel said, leaning close to suggest several ways she might want to express her gratitude. “Why don’t we go home so you can show me?”
* * *
But home presented a problem.
Neither of them wanted to return to Upper Brook Street or to Sussex House. Curzon Street was no longer a secret haven, and Haversham House, the place they both longed to be, was too far away from town to be practical.
Clarendon’s Hotel offered an immediate solution, but it wasn’t the solution they wanted.
Daniel helped Miranda back into the coach, climbed in beside her, and paused when his driver asked, “Where to, Your Grace?”
“Where to?” Daniel repeated the question. “Aye, there’s the rub. For I’m a man of many houses with not one private bed to call his own.”
“Not to worry,” she said, reaching over to caress his face with her hand. “For you’ve married a woman of considerable property.” Turning, she called out to the driver: “Regent’s Park Lake.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Let those love now who never loved before;
Let those who always loved, now love the more.”
—Thomas Parnell, 1679–1718
The villa John Nash was building for Miranda at Regent’s Park was nearly completed and already partially furnished. It was so near to completion that the locks had already been installed on the doors and windows. And Miranda had come away from Upper Brook Street without a key.
Fortunately, Daniel was better prepared. Reaching down, he withdrew a knife from his boot and set to work on the lock on the conservatory door. It yielded to the pressure of his blade within minutes.
“I would carry you over the threshold,” Daniel said, as he pushed the conservatory door open and ushered Miranda inside. “But I don’t think my ribs will allow it.” He closed the door behind him, relocked it, and glanced around at the room. “Please tell me there’s a bed.”
“There is.” She took him by the hand. “In a room up one flight of stairs, where the doors open onto a balcony overlooking the lake.”
Daniel groaned at the mention of stairs, but Miranda gave him a look that promised she would make climbing them worth his while, and he happily followed her lead, allowing her to pull him up the flight of stairs to the bedroom with the balcony overlooking the lake.
Where a large bed awaited him.
Miranda led him to it, then turned and unfastened her dress, pushing it off her shoulders, over her hips, and down her long legs, allowing it to puddle on the floor at her feet. She dispensed with her undergarments, untied her stockings, and stepped out of her green slippers. And stood before Daniel in all her naked glory.
He had seen women who were more beautiful than she was, had courted them and shared their beds, but he had never seen a woman he wanted more than he wanted Miranda. She was his equal. His match. The part of him he hadn’t known was missing until she had taken him inside her and made him her own.
Standing a few feet away from him, Miranda moistened her dry lips and stood quietly waiting for him to make a move.
Daniel stood in the center of the room at the foot of the bed and continued his study of her. He leaned against the footboard, barely daring to breathe as he waited to see what she would do next.
Realizing suddenly that they were playing a chess game of sorts where he was encouraging her to be the aggressor, Miranda looked him in the eyes.
Daniel fought for control. He narrowed his gaze until a furrow formed between his eyebrows and he was practically scowling. But Miranda wasn’t fooled or intimidated by his apparent disregard. She stalked him like a tiger stalking her prey, smiling as a muscle in his jaw began to pulse. She moved closer, then lifted her arms, looped them over his head and brushed her breasts against his shirtfront.
Daniel abandoned all thought of maintaining control. He opened his arms in welcome and Miranda settled into them—a peeress in her own right and now his duchess, as naked as the day she was born.
The sight of her nearly took his breath away. Daniel bent his head to kiss her and Miranda met him halfway.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting all morning, milady,” he murmured. “But there was business to which I had to attend.”
“Smuggling plans, no doubt.” She licked the seam of his lips.
“No doubt,” he agreed, running his hands up her ribs before filling them with the weight of her breasts. He nibbled at her lips, then trailed a line of kisses from her mouth down her chin and neck to the tops of her breasts, finally ending his journey by suckling first one and then the other of her perfectly fashioned globes, dropping down onto his knees in front of her in ord
er to do so.
“I missed you.” He surprised himself with the admission. “I found myself thinking about you at the oddest times.”
“That’s good,” she said, sliding her fingers through his thick dark hair, pressing his face against her stomach. “Because I missed you, too. And I found myself thinking of you at the oddest times, wondering if you’d come back or if my declaration of love would frighten you away.”
“I’m not that easily frightened, Your Grace,” he teased. “Honored, perhaps. Humbled, surely. But frightened of a shy, retiring little thing like you?”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” she answered. “Because I intend to exhibit a great deal more shy and retiring behavior in your presence.”
“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “I dare you.” Reaching behind her, Daniel cupped her buttocks and pulled her closer. He tilted his head and teased the tiny kernel of pleasure hidden beneath the silky auburn curls of her woman’s triangle with the tip of his tongue. “A lady of impeccable manners and taste,” he drawled. “I like that in a duchess.”
Tasting and teasing her with his mouth and tongue, Daniel worked his magic until she screamed his name in pleasurable release. He held her close as he got to his feet, pressing her against him as he gently lowered her onto the bed, then retreated far enough away to divest himself of his garments.
Miranda watched as he bared his body, then slowly parted her legs in invitation as Daniel joined her on the bed, settling against her and sighing with pleasure as he carefully sheathed himself inside her.
He pressed his lips against the curve of her neck and focused on the feel of their exquisite joining. She was warm and wet and welcoming, and he was rock hard and consumed with wanting. Theirs was a perfect fit and Daniel stroked her with a passionate urgency that bespoke his great need of her. Miranda answered him stroke for stroke, giving as much as she took, and begging for more.
They made sweet passionate love throughout the long hours of the afternoon and far into the night, and when at last he collapsed on the pillow beside her and closed his eyes, Daniel knew he need never fear revealing his secrets, for they were safe with her—as safe as the part of him she cradled within her. And Daniel knew, without a doubt, that he was forever changed by her touch because Miranda had captured his heart and soul with her essence.
Truly a Wife Page 27