* * * * *
"Steady, boy," Simon soothed as he brushed his skittish stallion. He knew that the stallion's ebony coat needed no more brushing; it shone in the dim lamplight from the hour that Simon had already spent on it. Still, he could not face the end of the task. What could come next to fill the hours between now and dawn?
He moved the brush slowly over the horse's coat.
He had trapped himself in an impossible situation. He was a fool. Even the servants could see it.
Barcus, the head groom, had looked at him as if he'd gone daft, coming into the stables when he had a new bride in his bed. The man's mouth had dropped open when Simon ordered his stallion saddled.
Though Barcus had been reticent about refusing, Simon recognized the behavior. All his servants exhibited it at inconvenient times — just when he was most out of sorts. Barcus had acted as if he were unsure how His Grace would react when told he could not ride his stallion into the dark as he wished.
Would it make any difference to the man to understand it was the tempting thought of his bride that had driven Simon to make such an unreasonable request in the first place? But Miranda was exactly what had kept Simon in the stables when informed that his stallion had turned up with a stone in his shoe and needed rest more than a fierce ride across a darkened landscape.
Thus, his stallion was receiving a brushing and currying the likes of which he'd never known, and all of the stablemen thought Simon had completely lost his wits. Simon himself wasn't absolutely sure that he hadn't. He had planned everything very carefully, or so he'd thought.
The idea of never making love to his wife was unbearable. He had married her in order to take her to bed, to enjoy his last days as duke with a semblance of what he might have had in other circumstances. But could he risk a child? His mother's revelation had driven the risk home to him too well. With Miranda so near and so willing, how could he limit himself, as he had intended at first?
And what if, despite everything, she got pregnant? That was unthinkable. He would not have his plans turn to dust this close to realization. In six short months he meant to be done with all his false ties to the dukedom. A child would not be a complication. A child would be a disaster.
The only answer was to remain celibate. He could do it; the consequences of not doing it were too disastrous to dare. But what would Miranda say?
As the stable doors swung slowly open and the glow of a lantern appeared, Simon groaned softly to himself. He had forgotten for a moment that the woman he had married not only had a passionate nature, but a curious and persistent one as well.
When she came to the door of the stable, he was surprised to see that she had taken the time to don one of the new walking dresses he had chosen for her, of a deep gold hue that, just as he had expected, brought out the golden highlights in her hair.
With a muttered oath, he sternly repressed the image that he had enjoyed before, of himself slowly removing that gown from her, her hair hanging loose.
"Simon?" Her voice was a whisper as she came down the length of the stalls until she saw him. She smiled, but he was not fooled by the gesture. She was very aware that things had gone seriously awry between them and this intelligence shone in her brandy-dark eyes.
"I thought you would be asleep by now," he lied, applying the brush as vigorously and unnecessarily as he could to his stallion's withers. "Our traveling was most exhausting."
She looked at him in surprise, taking a moment to respond. "On my wedding night?" Her voice was soft and chiding, though he knew it must cost her to keep her fear and uncertainty from him.
"What difference would it make what night? The trip was long and ... wearying." He cursed himself the moment he saw her eyes light with misunderstanding. "Oh, Simon, why are you currying your horse if you are tired? Come to bed and I shall rub your back."
"I referred to your exhaustion, Miranda, not my own."
"But I am ... " Her voice trailed off.
She had meant to say that she was not the one who was dying. His hatred focused on his mother and his black mood darkened.
He did not meet her eyes as he searched for a reason that would make her turn and leave him in peace. "I'll not come into that house until my mother has seen fit to depart."
"Do not damage your health because you are vexed with your mother, Simon." She moved toward him as he spoke, and he carefully stepped away, keeping the horse between them.
Vexed? She thought him vexed? Leave it, a cautious voice in his ear warned him. If he let even a scrap of his true feelings for his mother surface, Miranda would not rest until she knew every bit of the truth. And that he would not allow.
"I cannot sleep." That was certainly the truth. He would be hard-pressed to stay in his own bed knowing that Miranda was one door away and legally and willingly his.
She said nothing for a moment, but he could feel her gaze burning on his back. He hoped she would turn and leave. Her voice was gentle as she finally asked, "Are you afraid of making love with me?"
"Afraid?" He strove to hide his incredulity from her and his voice was a bark. How had she hit upon that so quickly?
"Afraid for your health, I mean," she amended hastily and he could see that she believed he was angry for the affront to his manliness. "It seems to require some exertion … and … I did notice your heart beating violently when … when … in the carriage." She smiled. "I'm sorry for my missishness, but it is difficult to find the appropriate words for our situation."
"Had you any fear for yourself, then?" When she gave him a puzzled frown, he smiled. "Your own heartbeat was rapid, as I recall." With vivid clarity, he thought ruefully. He would not soon forget the eagerness of her response to his touch.
She blushed. "I presume, then, such a reaction is natural?"
He nodded, and continued unwisely, "It is terribly natural although many proper ladies are said not to be able to react so with their own husbands."
"So I do have improper feelings?" She looked chastened. "And I am too much for you, my poor Simon? You require a proper, calm lady for your wife and I am too wild?"
He suppressed the urge to laugh at her suggestion. It offered him a surcease, for this evening at least. Hesitantly, he nodded at the absurd idea that a night with her would be too much for him. A thousand nights would be too little to satisfy him. He wanted forever. But it did not matter what he wanted. He could not have it.
"Come to bed. I will not trouble you. I will stay in my room. There is a door between us. I will not disturb your rest."
He was considering her offer when she continued. "And when your health has recovered, I shall endeavor to be calm during our encounters. After all, I will not have broken stays next time."
He wondered how to convince her that there would be no encounters. "I do not need more than your company, Miranda."
"Of course you do. You must have an heir. Why else would you have married when you believed yourself dying?"
He looked at her, shocked. She had said nothing to him about children and heirs before the marriage. Foolishly, he had assumed that meant she did not consider it a possibility. Indeed, he had thought she would not have wished it, as a child would put a halt to much of the coveted freedom that her widowed status was to offer her. He didn't know whether to laugh or to curse.
Misinterpreting his silence, Miranda stepped closer to him and laid her hand on his chest. "I know I behave in an unladylike way at times. But I promise I will do my best to remain calm and not strain your health."
The scent of her came to him, despite the stronger odor of the stables that surrounded them. It triggered his anger. "Miranda, I do not require your coddling. And my cousin Arthur is all the heir I need." Even as he said it, he vowed to see Arthur wed before he left. To a strong young woman with broad hips.
"Please come to bed. Don't hurt your health because of this discord with your mother — or because you fear I will endanger your health."
He turned his back on her. "I will retire when
I wish to."
"Promise me you will come to bed soon."
He ignored her.
"I will not leave until — "
He sighed. "I will retire when I wish. Now, go to your room and leave me in peace. I won't last another hour, never mind six months, with you nagging at me this way."
His harsh words worked as reason had not. He did not turn around to watch her defeat, but he heard the swish of her skirts and the rapid beat of her feet that indicated that she nearly ran. For a moment, when she spoke of being "gentle" with him, Simon had seen true anguish in her eyes. She didn't want to hurt him. Which meant that he would have to hurt her. Often.
He felt remorse for the course he had set by marrying her. But he ruthlessly crushed it. He had made a mistake and they would both pay for it. He could not make love with her and he could not trust himself not to take her to his bed. She would need to exert the control that would keep them apart and prevent a child of his bastard blood from inheriting.
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The Fairy Tale Bride Page 17