Daniel knew with unshakable certainty that even should he live to be a thousand years old, he would never love anyone or anything as much as he loved Miranda.
He whispered in her ear, but the words came out as a soft, satisfied murmur too low for her to hear.
She slept undisturbed.
Daniel kissed the top of her head, fanning her hair with his breath as he held her cradled against his side, and dreamed the dreams of the future.
* * *
The early-morning light had begun to fill the sky when Miranda opened her eyes. She reached for Daniel and knew a moment of panic when she realized he was gone.
She threw back the covers, got to her feet, and hurried to the balcony door. Pushing the door open, she scanned the balcony, hoping to find him there.
But Daniel wasn’t on the balcony.
He was below it, standing on the bank of the lake, staring at the small punt bobbing on the surface of the dark water.
Wrapping herself in a sheet, Miranda left the bedroom and hurried outside to join him.
He jumped when she touched him on the shoulder, and when he turned to look at her, Miranda saw that his face bore a decidedly greenish cast. “Daniel, what are you doing out here? Are you ill?”
“I’ve a confession to make,” he said, trying desperately to smile.
“I spoiled your surprise?”
He shook his head. “Don’t paint me with the brush of romance just yet,” he warned. “Because I’m not at all certain I can live up to it.”
She gave him what she hoped was a come-hither look. “We’ve got a boat, a lake, and you and me. All we need are sunshine, satin pillows, and some rose petals, and my fantasy’s complete.”
“Not quite,” he replied.
“Why not?”
“I hate boats.”
Miranda blinked in confusion.
“I hate boats,” Daniel continued, “all boats. Every boat. Any boat. From the smallest rowboat to the royal yacht.”
“That’s unfortunate in your chosen occupation,” she commiserated, “for smugglers generally use boats as their primary form of transportation.”
“I know,” he reminded her. “And the last time I was in one, I got shot.”
“I see.” Miranda thought for a moment. “Can you swim?”
“Of course.” He sounded a little affronted at having her discover another of his weaknesses.
“You’d be surprised at the number of people who can’t,” she told him, stepping over the pole Daniel had left lying on the bank. “Sailors and smugglers included.”
“Known many sailors and smugglers have you?”
“Two sailors,” she replied. “Neither of whom could swim. And one smuggler who could. Splendid fellow. Unfortunately, his smuggling career is likely to be of brief duration since he doesn’t like boats.” She picked up the pole and placed it inside the boat. “Not that I’d mind, of course, for I rather like the idea of having him home.”
He exhaled. “I’ll be leaving in a few days.”
“On business?” she asked.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“This?” Miranda stared at the boat.
“Yes.”
“The last time you went out like that, you got shot.”
He smiled. “Yes, I know.”
“But …”
“There’s work to be done, Miranda, and a war to be won, and I have a part in winning it.” It was the closest Daniel could come to telling her the truth about the Free Fellows League.
“I see.” Lifting the hem of her sheet to keep from dragging it in the water, Miranda walked over to the boat, waded into the water, and climbed aboard. She doubled the sheet, spread it in the bottom of the boat, and lay down upon it. “Tell me, Your Grace, what is it about this boat you don’t like?”
“The motion,” he admitted. “The rocking.”
“It isn’t rocking now,” she said.
“It will be,” he countered. “As soon as it leaves the bank for open water.”
“How did you make it on your last smuggling run?” she asked.
“I didn’t think about the boat or the water, I only thought about the important job I had to do.”
Miranda smiled a cat-that-ate-the-cream sort of smile and crooked her finger at him. “I’ve a most important job for you to do, Your Grace …”
* * *
He ached all over. His ribs. His wound. His sunburned skin.
But poling Miranda around the lake had proved excellent therapy for him. He had been so busy making love to his wife that by the time they reached the opposite shore, he’d forgotten all about the sick feeling he usually felt when the boat began rocking side to side.
And just when he feared his sick feeling had returned, Miranda had returned the favor and made love to him in several rather inventive ways.
He would never look at the little boat, or any boat, the same way again. Miranda had turned the tables on him, by showing him that there was pleasure to be found even in the thing he feared most. Just as she was showing him that marriage to her could be an endless source of pleasure. Teaching him to enjoy marriage instead of fear it.
In return, he had very nearly brought her fantasy to life. Next time he would have the satin pillows and the rose petals to go along with the sunshine, for he’d quickly learned that the floor of a boat was hell on the knees.
He smiled at her. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow, milady.”
Miranda laughed her throaty laugh and trailed her hand in the water. “Impossible.”
“You’re a bit too pink in a few very interesting places,” Daniel observed as he poled them toward the bank where they’d begun several hours earlier.
“So are you,” she reminded him. “But your clothes cover it up. Whereas I’ve only a sheet and I’m lying on it.”
“In your fantasy, the poling was easier,” he said, gasping for breath as he pushed the boat across the water.
“That’s true,” she admitted, sitting up and rolling to her knees. The boat tipped precariously, then righted itself as Miranda made her way to the stern and climbed up beside him.
“What are you doing?” His voice rose a fraction. “My turn to pole,” she replied, reaching for it. “Your turn to rest.”
Daniel hesitated, but the allure of having a six-foot-tall naked woman pole him across the lake was too tempting to ignore. He inched his way to the prow as he exchanged places with his bride, then lay back and enjoyed the view as Miranda pushed them home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“The first step is the hardest.”
—Marie de Vichy-Chamrond, 1697–1780
Daniel paid another call on his mother, the dowager duchess, four days later. She greeted him as he entered her sitting room.
“Good morning, Daniel.”
“Mother,” Daniel bowed. “I haven’t a great deal of time. I’m going away on business and I’m leaving within the hour.”
“It seems to me that you’re making a habit of that lately,” she said. “No trouble in paradise, I hope.”
“Of course not,” he replied. “But my business demands that Miranda and I be apart for a few days …”
“What brings you to see me so bright and early?”
“I wanted to see you before I left, and to ask a favor.”
The duchess raised one elegant eyebrow at that. “Twice in one week. What have I done to deserve this distinction?”
“You’re my mother,” he replied, handing her a thick goatskin folder full of legal documents. “I’ve brought you copies of my personal papers. You’ll find them quite in order. If anything should happen to me, I’d like you to see that my wishes are carried out.”
“What do you mean, if anything happens to you?” She stared at him. “You are my only son and the Duke of Sussex, nothing had better happen to you.”
“The business I’m about is very serious and very important. I hope to return in a few days’ time none the worse for wear, but I can
not guarantee that that will be the case. I’ve left instructions for you on the first page of that letter.” He gestured toward an envelope. “And I’d appreciate it if you would begin work on that project right away.” Daniel smiled down at her. “It’s for Miranda.”
He watched as his mother scanned the letter of instructions. “Miranda has copies of every legal document here except my letter to you. Everything has been made current in order to reflect my change in marital status—including my will.” He looked at his mother. “I would be most grateful if you would use whatever you need to make this possible.”
“Daniel, I’m not sure this is appropriate …”
“It’s most appropriate,” he said. “You’ve had time to consider the consequences of continuing the current state of affairs. And to decide whether or not you’re willing to try another path.”
“I’m willing,” his mother said softly. “And I must admit I was surprised that you allowed it to go on as long as it did.”
“You’re my mother,” Daniel answered. “Miranda is the love of my life. I don’t want to have to choose between you. Or to have members of the ton take sides. You’ve treated her abominably, Maman, and now it’s time for you to start making amends.”
Recalling her conversation with Miranda a few days earlier, the dowager duchess attempted to circumvent the instructions Daniel had given her. “Miranda and I have already reached an understanding.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” he told her. “But I expect you to do this for me all the same.”
The dowager duchess’s concern showed on her lovely face for the first time in years. “Everything sounds so final.” She looked into her son’s eyes. “You are planning to return, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. I’ll send word as soon as I know when.”
“This is a great deal to accomplish in such a short amount of time,” she complained.
“You can manage it. You’re the dowager Duchess of Sussex. You took on the Gas-Light and Coke Company and had gaslights installed where they said it couldn’t be done in time for your gala. You can accomplish anything.”
She gave him her most devastating smile. “When you put it like that, I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I am.” Daniel leaned down to kiss his mother on the cheek. “Take care. I’ll see you when I return.” Turning, he headed toward the door.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“I thought I might surprise your bride by redecorating your wing of the house in a manner more suitable for a duke and his duchess.”
“That’s very nice of you, Maman,” he said. “Redecorate if you like, but you needn’t go to the trouble on our account. Miranda and I have decided to live in Miranda’s villa in Regent’s Park.”
“But Sussex House has always been the primary residence of the Dukes of Sussex,” she protested.
“Sussex House is your home, Maman. You’ve lived here thirty years.”
“But …”
“And Upper Brook Street, as the traditional residence of the Marquesses of St. Germaine, is Lady St. Germaine’s home,” he reminded her. “Marriage to me made Miranda the Duchess of Sussex, but she’s the fifth Marquess of St. Germaine by birth. You and Miranda and I could live here at Sussex House. Or Lady St. Germaine, Miranda, and I could live at Upper Brook Street. But we cannot do both. And since we don’t want to live in your house or in Lady St. Germaine’s house, Miranda and I have decided to make the villa in Regent’s Park our home.”
“Then I suppose it would be all right if I sent along a few things? Paintings, pieces of furniture, the cask of Sussex jewelry, a few objects d’art, and the like …”
“It would.” Daniel looked at his mother. “But I’m sure Miranda would appreciate it more if you invited her here so that she might choose the things she’d like for our new home from among these things. Excluding your apartments, of course.”
“Did she like the emerald?”
“Very much.”
“I suppose I could invite her for refreshments and a tour of the attics and the storerooms.”
“The house, the attics, and the storeroom,” Daniel said firmly. “She is the new duchess, after all, and should be allowed to choose whatever she wants from her husband’s home. As the dowager duchess, I should think that you would understand that and be prepared to be quite magnanimous.”
“All right.”
“Have I your word of honor that you’ll follow my instructions and invite Miranda and her mother for refreshments and a tour of the house, the attics, and the storeroom this afternoon?”
She nodded.
“I would appreciate hearing the words.”
“You have my word of honor that I will follow your instructions and invite Miranda and her mother for refreshments and a tour of the house, the attics, and the storeroom.” She studied his resolute expression, then gave in. “I’ll send a note around right away.”
“Thank you, Maman.” He kissed her cheek one last time, said his good-bye, and left.
* * *
Leaving Miranda had proven much harder.
She hadn’t cried when he left, but her eyes had shimmered with unshed tears and she’d tried her best to hide the quaver in her voice and the fact that she was wearing his trousers beneath her dress. But he’d run his hands up under her skirts and discovered them.
Daniel arched an eyebrow. “New style, milady?”
“Take me with you,” she’d pleaded.
“I can’t,” he answered, shoving her skirts higher so he could see the trousers she had on. “Mine, I suppose?”
Miranda frowned. “Yes, of course.”
He cupped her round buttocks, then smoothed his hand over the taut fabric. “I seem to recall that you look quite fetching in these.” He grinned. “What’s the occasion?”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “You know the occasion. I’m going with you.”
He shook his head. “Would that you could, my love, but I’m afraid you won’t be modeling your costume for me on this trip.”
“Please, Daniel,” she said. “I can’t bear the thought of you in a boat out on the Channel alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” he said.
“But you’ll be in a boat. How will I know if you’re all right?”
“I’ll be all right because I have you to come home to.” He pressed her against him, then kissed the tip of her nose, marveling at the way she fit him so perfectly. “And a little while from now, you’ll be receiving a note from my mother inviting you to join her for refreshments at Sussex House, where you’ll have the opportunity to choose furnishings for our new house. I’d like it very much if you’d accept her invitation.”
“But, Daniel …”
“Don’t worry, if all goes well, I’ll be home by tomorrow evening,” he told her.
“I can’t help but worry,” she admitted. “I know what went wrong last time.”
“I’ll be fine. Please go to Sussex House and let my mother begin making amends for her behavior.”
Seeing the look in his eyes, Miranda capitulated. “All right.”
“That’s my duchess,” Daniel approved, lingering over his kiss, putting all the passion he felt into bidding his wife good-bye.
* * *
The Free Fellows League waited until Jarrod returned from his honeymoon to bait the trap.
Jarrod had boarded one of Lord Davies’s merchant ships and crossed the Channel bound for Spain under cover of darkness some hours before. Alex, second Marquess of Courtland, had gone with him, boarding the boat in London earlier in the day. Courtland’s mission was to take much-needed provisions to their network of couriers and spies scattered along the Peninsula while Jarrod conferred with Wellington and his staff.
Daniel and his group of smugglers were the decoys, for their precious cargo was Micah Beekins, a few cases of brandy taken from Daniel’s own cellar, and a leather dispatch pouch full of counterfeit dispatches Colin and Gillian had spent two days
constructing.
The dispatches, when deciphered, would condemn the person presenting them, and the Free Fellows had decided to use them as a safeguard should things go awry and allow the rat to slip through their trap.
Lord Weymouth had played his part by relaying tiny bits of information in conversation with his superior in the War Office. Leather dispatches were due to arrive on the evening tide at Dover, along with one of the secret men who carried the dispatches.
Jonathan, playing the part of a naval officer assigned to the coast watch, was ready to board the HMS Colchester to thwart the rat’s escape by water. And Colin and Griffin remained behind in London to follow him. All the way to the coast if necessary.
Everyone had a role to play. Even Rupert and Ned. For Daniel had instructed them to watch over Miranda and keep her safe when he’d taken her back to Upper Brook Street to stay with her mother and kissed her good-bye.
* * *
“I don’t think he’s coming, Danny Boy,” Billy Beekins murmured from his position at the back of the boat.
“He’s coming,” Daniel answered with complete conviction. They’d been sitting in the boat for hours, hugging the coastline, waiting for a signal from Jonathan to tell them that the frigate and a coach were coming.
“There it is!” Shavers whispered. “There’s Johnny Boy’s signal.”
Daniel looked to his left and saw that his cousin had given the signal. “Shove out.” He instructed the crew to row out a few hundred yards in order to time their arrival to coincide with that of the coach.
“How’re you holding out, Danny?” The boatswain’s mate asked. “Your injury paining you?”
Daniel put his shoulder to the oar. “It’s burning like bloody hell,” he admitted. “But I’ll make it.”
“Aye, lad, you will.” Billy Beekins smiled a gap-toothed smile. “You’re not nearly as peckish-looking this trip. You’ve lost your greenish cast.”
Daniel grinned. “I’ve come to appreciate boats,” he answered truthfully. “And the things a man can accomplish in them.”
Truly a Wife Page 28