She moved gradually, testing out what his girth felt like, taking him in at a painfully slow pace that only served to torment him. If she had been any other woman, he would have believed she was doing that on purpose, toying with him. But not Miranda. Everything she did was so unpracticed, so natural. Like she had been built to pleasure a man.
To pleasure him.
She began to withdraw, moving back until he had almost left her mouth, but then she stopped. Her tongue rolled, wrapping over him and back under with a firm pressure that made his vision blur with the absolute ecstasy of her touch. His knees almost buckled and he reached forward and caught her shoulders to keep his knees from going out from under him.
“Was that wrong?” she whispered, pulling away to gaze up at him.
“No,” he managed to grind out through clenched teeth. “Perfect. Just do that again, but a bit faster.”
She nodded and repeated the action, following his directions about increased speed. Ethan could hardly see through the fog her mouth created in his mind.
A quick learner and an immediate study in seduction, Miranda sucked on him like she knew all the intricacies of a man’s pleasure. And if her little vibrating moans were any indication, what she was doing gave her as much pleasure as it brought to him. Which made the act all the hotter since not every woman found enjoyment in the activity. Some of his lovers had even used it as a bargaining chip in the past.
Ethan tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her strokes with gentle urging as he dipped his head back over his shoulders and savored every sensation.
But as her mouth moved faster and she instinctively added the smooth strokes of her hand, enjoyment turned to something more potent. His pleasure mounted, burning hotter, faster until his release bore down on him like an out of control stallion.
“Miranda,” he groaned, tugging back to keep himself from spending in her mouth. “Enough.”
She ignored his order, clamping one hand around his backside to keep him in her mouth.
“Miranda!” he protested, though the sound was weak indeed.
She hummed out a noise of pleasure and Ethan groaned, trying desperately to hold back the flood of release, but it was fruitless.
With a harsh, loud cry he lost control and pumped hot. He expected Miranda to recoil from the burst, but she stayed where she was, taking every drop of his essence until he softened and slipped from her lips.
Ethan gasped, trying to catch his breath. As his heart rate returned to normal and his vision cleared, the full ramifications of what had occurred rushed through him. He stared down at Miranda, who had flopped back against the settee cushions with her arm over her face. He flinched. She was probably traumatized, though she had no one to blame but herself. He’d tried to warn her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice sounding strangely stiff and unnatural. He wasn’t accustomed to comforting his lovers.
She uncovered her face and looked up at him. While he’d expected tears or shock, instead she smiled. Her face shone with pleasure.
“More than all right. Was I…” She hesitated with a pretty blush. “Did I please you?”
He frowned, turning away. Please him? Fuck, she’d nearly take his head off with the intensity of his pleasure. Oh, he’d come like that before, but never because he lost control. He’d always taken great pride in being able to manage when he found release.
But Miranda had swept that all away with a few hot swipes of her pretty mouth. She had taken his control. Again.
He spun on her. “Yes. Quite lovely,” he said with a benign smile.
Immediately her cat-in-the-cream grin fell, replaced by an embarrassed flash of hurt.
“Lovely?” she repeated, her face twisting like the word was poison on her lips.
He nodded. “Yes. But I don’t think we have anything else to do today. So you may return home.”
She stumbled to her feet. “But it’s just after noon! I only arrived a few hours ago. I am yours until tomorrow.”
He turned away with a frown. That reminder conjured such powerful images of all the things he wanted to do to her. But in every scenario, he couldn’t see himself doing anything less than losing control again and again. Taking her, but being unable to keep himself slightly distant from the pleasure.
Worse, he found himself wanting more. Wanting to talk to her. Comfort her and make that flash of self-doubt he’d seen in her eyes go away.
Impossible.
“Don’t you understand? I don’t want you here any longer, Miranda,” he barked, spinning on her. “Consider today a free day toward your debt!”
She stumbled back like she’d been physically struck and pain flashed so clearly on every single line of her face that it was palpable in the room around them. But then she quietly cleared the pain away. Pushed it back, far back. A familiar thing to Ethan. He had been practicing the same method for so many years he’d lost count.
She nodded as she reached for her clothing. “Very well, Lord Rothschild. If that is what you desire, I’ll go.”
Miranda turned her back as she dressed, covering up all the curves he’d taken such pleasure in revealing. Watching them disappear beneath the worn fabric of her gown gave him far less enjoyment than unwrapping her body.
When she had fastened her last button and used the large mirror beside the bed to fix her tangled tresses, she turned back to him. Though she was trying to hide it behind a façade of calm, the muted hurt still sparkled in her stare.
“Good afternoon,” she said softly. “Send me word if you do not wish to see me again.”
Then she left, without so much as a backward glance.
Ethan stared at the door she’d shut behind her. Self-loathing washed over him, covering everything in a dark cloud of self-directed anger and out-and-out hatred.
He’d hurt her. He shouldn’t care that he’d done so. After all, she was just the woman he was sleeping with and he’d never given his lovers’ emotional well-being much thought in the past.
But Miranda was different. Which was the problem, after all. Something about her made him want to care. To forget about the past and all the things he knew he was capable of doing that would ultimately destroy a woman like her.
He had to do something about this. Something to regain his power.
He could break the bargain.
A flash of horror rushed through him. No. That wasn’t the answer. He wanted Miranda and the only way to purge that want was to have her until he bored of her. But he couldn’t let her natural, unpracticed passions make him lose his head again. The next time she visited him, he would not let it happen.
He would become emotionless. He had done it in the past, he could bloody well do it again.
Miranda hurried through the woods until she was certain she was out of sight of the house. Not that she thought Ethan was actually watching her go. He could hardly look at her when she was in the room with him, why would he care enough to stare as she stumbled away?
Humiliation rushed through her. She had been so thrilled by what had happened. She’d liked giving Ethan pleasure, feeling his famous control waver. But afterward, his dismissal had been so cold and emotionless.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back ferociously. She wasn’t going to cry! Not over this. Not after everything else that had happened to her.
In the distance, she saw her own home approaching. She smoothed her gown and swiped a hand over her face. Calm. She would remain calm. Raising the suspicions of her family would only make things worse.
She slipped from the clearing onto the lawn with a smile that felt frozen on her face. She nodded to a gardener, waved to one of the stable boys in the distance. Yes, everything was fine. Everything was wonderful. She just had to get to her room. Once there, she could let all her emotions overwhelm her.
Reaching the house, she opened the door and slipped into the foyer. The staircase leading to the family quarters was only a few feet away. She just had to sneak across the
hall and she would be—
A floorboard creaked beneath her slipper, echoing in the hallway. Immediately, her younger sister Winifred’s blonde head stuck out of the parlor and her face broke into a smile.
“Miranda!” she cried, stepping into the hallway to give her a hug. “We thought you’d be with Lady Inglewood until tomorrow!”
“Hello, Winnie,” Miranda sighed, making her tight smile all the broader for her sister’s sake as she stroked Winifred’s blonde hair lightly. “I—er—”
“Miranda is back?” her mother’s sharp voice echoed from the room. Miranda’s eyes fluttered shut. Damn. “Why in the world are you home so early? You’re meant to be with Lady Inglewood until tomorrow!”
Miranda entered the parlor like a prisoner condemned. Her mother sat having tea with Penelope and Beatrice. When Miranda nodded in greeting, her mother’s gaze slipped up and down her form with a sniff.
“You made a poor impression on her, didn’t you?” Dorthea pressed.
“Your hair is a mess,” Beatrice offered helpfully, setting her teacup down with an expression of glee. Clearly she knew her comments would only spurn their mother on more.
Miranda gritted her teeth. “Lady Inglewood caught a cold. When I arrived, she was out of sorts and wished to rest, so she sent me home early.”
“Just as well. She is probably only laughing at our misfortunes down her nose anyway.” Her mother scowled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t go back there at all.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Mama, you cannot mean that.”
Dorthea responded by folding her arms with a petulant sigh. “Now that we have Lord Rothschild’s sponsorship, do we need her airs?”
Miranda’s head was throbbing. If her mother refused to allow her to continue her ruse, she had no idea how she would explain her absences while she paid her debt to Ethan.
If he still wanted her. She shoved that thought away with violence.
“We need all the good influence we can get, don’t we?” she asked.
Her mother seemed to ponder that for a long moment. “I suppose it cannot hurt to have another potential patron for our cause. For now, I will allow it to continue. But let us not talk about that any longer. Come, sit down.”
Her mother motioned to one of the empty chairs, with a look filled with expectation. It was an order, not a request.
Miranda looking at the door with a sense of longing. She wasn’t certain she could handle tea with her entire family. Not at the moment. If only the floorboard hadn’t creaked.
“Mama, I am tired from my walk. I would like to go upstairs and lie down for a while. After I’ve rested, I’ll be happy to share supper with you all.” She searched her mind for some carrot to offer her mother in return for a few hours peace. “Perhaps afterward we could play whist.”
She flinched at the thought. She hated playing cards with her mother.
“Posh! You may rest here and have your tea with your family,” her mother insisted. “Sit down.”
With a shudder, Miranda did as she had been told, too tired and emotional to face a drawn out argument. Penelope stared at her from across the table, concern plain on her face. Miranda struggled to keep her emotions from her expression in the hopes her sister wouldn’t press for information on her upset later.
It was a losing battle.
“Speaking of our new sponsor, we were just discussing Lord Rothschild before you arrived,” Beatrice said with a grin. “Mama is planning to host a huge ball in a fortnight to launch Penelope’s Season.”
“A ball!” Miranda repeated and thoughts of her own hurt and confusion fled. “Mama, the cost!”
Their mother glared at her. “It isn’t our money, my dear, so don’t begin your miserly ways. A ball will be the perfect thing. Your sister will be the center of attention and Beatrice and Winifred will even get to make a showing. We might as well use Lord Rothschild’s kindness while we have it.”
Miranda shut her eyes with a groan. Her mother might be correct in some ways. After today, her fears about Ethan’s intent were back with a vengeance. She hadn’t broken her word this time, she hadn’t pulled away. But they had never discussed the terms if he reneged on their deal. For all she knew, he would tell her never to come back again. If he did, they would all be lost.
Except that wasn’t the consequence that troubled her most. If she were honest with herself, the most upsetting part of today’s events was that she might lose her time with Ethan. She wanted more. More of his touch, more of his body. More of everything.
Stupid, stupid girl.
“Is there any way to change your mind?” Miranda asked on a sigh.
“No,” her mother snapped. “This is for the best.”
She pushed away from the table. There was no way to contain her frustration any longer, not when she was already on edge. “Then do what you like. I cannot argue with you any more after such a trying day. I will see you all at supper.”
She turned from the room, well aware of the gaping stares of her family at her back. She had never been so dismissive of their mother before. It should have made her feel guilty, but she was too emotionally wrung out to feel any more than the humiliation and fear and longing that already gripped her heart.
Trudging to the staircase, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she expected to see her mother at her heels, ready to chastise her for her behavior, but it was Penelope who followed her.
Which was actually worse.
“What has come over you, Miranda?” her sister asked in low, concerned tones. “I have never seen you so lost!”
Miranda flinched. Lost. That was how she felt.
“I am simply tired,” she lied, turning away.
Penelope caught her hand and held her steady. “It is more than that, Miranda! You’re my best friend. I can tell when you are troubled and pained and hurt. What is going on? Please, confide in me like you used to.”
Miranda yanked her fingers away. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just leave it be, Penelope.”
“Leave it be!” her sister said with a shake of her head.
Miranda caught her breath as a sudden sob wracked her. “Yes. Leave it be. Leave me be.”
Then she spun on her heel and rushed up to the privacy of her chamber.
Nine
Nearly a week had passed and Miranda had heard nothing from Ethan. She waited each day for some kind of sign as to how he felt about her, about their arrangement, about anything that had transpired the week before. But he had been tellingly silent.
She paced her room Thursday afternoon, practically leaping out of her skin with the waiting. If she didn’t hear anything from him, she had no choice but to go tomorrow just as they had originally agreed. She didn’t relish the idea of being dismissed by him in person or worse—she shivered—by one of Ethan’s servants, but it was a risk she would have to take.
She’d taken so many in the past few years, what was one more?
The door behind her opened and the lady’s maid she shared with Penelope and Winifred, Angelica, entered the room. Beatrice had insisted upon having her own servant and their mother’s intervention had allowed their younger sister that foolish expense. Miranda ground her teeth every time she thought of it.
“Good morning, miss,” Angelica said with a quick bob of a curtsey.
She had a strange expression on her face, like she was keeping a secret and about to burst with it. Miranda sighed. The servant could get in line, there were plenty of people with secrets in this house and she was at the top of that list.
“I think a simple twist will do for my hair today,” she said as she took a seat at her dressing table and faced the mirror.
The girl nodded, but made no move to approach and begin her duties. She simply stared at Miranda in the reflection, her lips twitching.
Miranda sighed. There was no escaping it, she supposed. If she wanted to have her hair fixed and help with her gown, she would be forced to ask Angelica about her strange expression.
The young woman nodded as she dug a letter from her pocket. Miranda’s brow wrinkled. Was she resigning? She was certain the maid’s salary had been paid and the girl didn’t have to deal with pouty Beatrice. She couldn’t imagine either Penelope or Winifred causing her any trouble.
“Miss, I have”—Angelica stopped, chewing her lip nervously before she continued—“I have a letter for you.”
Miranda shut her eyes. So she was resigning. Perfect. Another item to add to her never-ending list of things to fix. “Won’t you give me a chance to rectify whatever grievance you have?”
“Oh, no, miss!” The maid took a step toward her. “It isn’t a letter from me. A…” she giggled. “A gentleman gave it to me and asked me to deliver it to you.”
Miranda was out of the chair before she even realized she’d decided to stand. “A gentleman?”
“Well,” Angelica blushed. “The servant of a gentleman.”
Miranda snatched the letter from her fingers and turned it over. It was Rothschild’s crest that sealed the papers together. Her heart began to throb as she looked at the note, knowing it could contain either her doom or her salvation.
“Thank you, Angelica. Why don’t you go and help Winifred or Penelope first and come back for me in a while?” she said without looking away from the seal.
The servant nodded, backing toward the door. But before she exited, she stopped. Her stare was hard enough that Miranda broke away from the note and looked up at her.
“What is it?”
“Miss, I know it isn’t my place. But I must tell you to be careful. A young lady such as yourself might not know about what kind of man Lord Rothschild is. I like you, miss. I wouldn’t want to see any harm come to you.” The servant blushed bright red. “I’m sorry to be so forward, but you’ve been good to me.”
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