Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5)

by Heather Boyd

  He felt very guilty for the poor welcome she’d received, and if nothing else he wished to ask if there was anything she needed.

  He lifted a hand to knock and let it rap against the wood softly. Her response to come in was immediate and that surprised him. Usually she made him wait. He stepped through and approached the bed. Finding it empty was a surprise. He turned around in a slow circuit to search for her.

  Miranda was sitting in a chair by the window, gazing out at London instead of sleeping.

  “I thought you’d be asleep or at least in bed.”

  “Your mother paid me a visit and sleep is impossible,” she told him.

  He winced. “What did she have to say?”

  “Oh, nothing I’d not heard before: show the proper degree of respect to the family.”

  “Ah.” Kit drew closer to her but stopped when she stiffened. “I remember the lectures she gave me as a boy. Quite terrifying to live up to her expectations and to those who came before me.”

  “Imagine what she might say to a wife who bucked at adhering to your noble family traditions and hasn’t delivered the heir.”

  Kit pinched the bridge of his nose. There would be no son at this rate. “Is that why you’re not asleep yet? Forgive me, but I would have thought you’d not care what any of us had to say. It’s late. You should get some rest.”

  “The bed is unfit for sleeping in.”

  He took offense at that. The beds in his house were of the finest quality. “I doubt that.”

  When Miranda held out her hand to him suddenly, Kit took what she offered. A jagged lump of stone rested in his palm.

  “Another quaint family tradition you kept secret? I am so happy to have missed this experience on our wedding night. I suppose you might enjoy the discomfort, I know not your tastes now, but I assure you sleep in that bed is impossible.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She waved her hand toward the bed. “By all means, disbelieve me and see for yourself.”

  He tested the bed, ran his hands over the sheets, and then stripped them back to touch the mattress. He discovered a split seam and nothing more. “You’re mistaken.”

  “Try lying down and see what you discover.”

  Still detecting nothing untoward, he humored her by climbed up to lay flat on his back along the closest side. The next moment he jerked upright with a curse and stared at the mattress. The bed was full of hard lumps. Miranda was right that she could not be expected to rest well in that bed. He doubted anyone could. “Who the devil did this?”

  Miranda returned to her view out the window. “I assumed you were responsible. A little discomfort to punish me or perhaps ensure I could not sleep at all.”

  “Mother.” He growled. “I would never do such a mean-spirited thing to anyone.”

  Her gaze raked over him, her eyes softening slightly. “I believe you now, but the end result is still the same.”

  “You cannot sleep in a chair all night.”

  Her laugh was a dry chuckle in the night, whispering across his senses like a lover’s caress. “Why not? It wouldn’t be the first dawn that has found me this way.”

  “Well, there is no need for such extremes. You will simply sleep in my bed and tomorrow we will have that mattress removed and dealt with.”

  “As I said, the result is the same. Your mother wins and I’m forced into your bed.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I refuse to have such a ridiculous conversation about where you will sleep or will not.” He gestured toward his room angrily. “Bed. Now.”

  She stood slowly and walked toward his bedchamber door with her head high. Defiant, as if she were on her way to the gallows for a crime she hadn’t committed. “As you command.”

  Kit threw his hands up in the air, then scowled at the bed. “I will not fight with you.”

  “No of course. You don’t have to in order to get your way.” She stared at his bed. “Which side must I lie upon?”

  “Whichever side you bloody well like.”

  Kit moved to the side Miranda did not take. He stretched to extinguish the nearest lamp, then removed his robe and slipped naked beneath the cool sheets. He faced away from his wife. When she slipped into bed with him, he did not turn, did not stray toward her even an inch. He didn’t dare push the issue of even claiming a good-night kiss. There would be no heir for the Taverham estates in the near future. Never at all unless his mother stopped helping him get his wife into his bed.

  Miranda must think him obsessed with sex, and he was interested in that, but only if she wanted him too.

  He bore the silence for about ten minutes before rolling onto his back. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I don’t know what my mother was thinking, and your accusations offended me. I never asked or wished for her to interfere in our marriage. I can understand how it would seem a way to have you forced into bed with me.”

  Miranda shifted slightly. “Your mother is determined to acquire a grandchild, and she’s not above trickery to have her way.”

  Kit grunted and rose up on one elbow so he could look more closely at Miranda’s face in the dim light. “So it seems. Just so you understand that such deceptions are not my way.”

  Her lips turned down. “Yes, you have always been direct.”

  “As are you. A character trait I admire.” He licked his lips. “May I say good night properly?”

  She scowled again. “Is there a point to protesting?”

  He grinned to ease her mind. “About kisses, no. Everything else can be debated.”

  Before she could answer, he captured her lips and kissed her gently. He had his wife in his bed for the first time in his life, in their marriage, and he would not waste a moment in showing her how much he wanted her there. He stroked his tongue across her plump lips and her gasp allowed him to taste her.

  Miranda was a drug to his senses. He could kiss her for hours and never get enough. He sampled her lips a long while, then moved lower to her throat and nipped her skin lightly. He growled against her throat and she moaned softly. The long-missed sound sent his senses soaring. They were unbelievably attracted to each other. He’d like to think that if she had stayed and not run away that they might have made love every night, or near enough, and woken in each other’s arms every day too.

  He’d hoped for that and lost. Now he had another chance to make the future the way it should have been. He could not take things too far unless she asked him to.

  Kit curled his fingers around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Miranda rolled until they were side by side, her cold toes pressed to the top of his feet, her nightgown the only barrier between them. The barrier could stay. He would let her keep her modesty if it gave her peace of mind. Kit only wanted to kiss her. He just hadn’t told her where.

  Miranda’s hands where light against his side and chest. He caught one and brought it to his lips. “You have a burn on this hand. How did you come to be injured?”

  “An accident.”

  He found the rough patch of skin and pressed a kiss to it. When he’d glimpsed the wound earlier, Kit had found himself furious that she’d been hurt. He buried those feelings again. Now was not the time to question her and demand she be more careful. Now was the right time to convince his wife to give him another chance to be her husband in every way that mattered.

  He slid beneath the covers, fingers catching the hem of her nightgown to raise it up her legs. Miranda shifted restlessly as she likely guessed his intent. He’d loved to taste her with his mouth while his ears were filled with the sounds of her excitement before their marriage. Her desperate cries for completion had always driven him wild. Tonight would be the same, he hoped.

  He inhaled her scent, pressed butterfly kisses along her thighs until she parted them at the gentle urging of his hands. He kissed her curls, once softly, the next firmer still. Above his head, Miranda was quiet, offering no encouragement whatsoever. Puzzled, he opened her lower lips with his thumbs and blew softly over them.<
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  Miranda’s hips bucked high in the air as she tensed. Not a word passed her lips. Was she silent to punish him? It wouldn’t matter to him if she was. Her body betrayed her excitement. Every muscle was tense. The scent of her arousal filled him with glee.

  He rested his head against her inner thigh and touched her body intimately. Miranda, despite her silence, was wet enough to make him ache. He eased his cock away from the friction of the bedding, coming up onto his hands and knees between her parted thighs. “Pillow,” he requested, and received one quickly.

  Kit gently eased it beneath her bottom, lifting her pelvis to his hungry mouth for more kisses. He hungered for her taste, so he held back nothing. He stroked her lower lips, teased the hidden bud of her clitoris until her hips rocked against his mouth. He paused a long moment, savoring the joy he found in that simple acknowledgment of the effect he had on her.

  Miranda caught his head by his hair and pushed his face back against her.

  Laughing, Kit teased and sucked and savored each quiet command she gave. He didn’t mind doing her bidding when the reward was so sweet. Softly, as if the sounds were unwillingly made, his wife moaned to every touch of his tongue as he slid against her. In the past Miranda had always come fast and hard, yet tonight she held back. Kit doubled his efforts. He caught one delightfully full breast, squeezed and kneaded the flesh until she thrashed. He sucked her clitoris hard.

  Miranda bucked against his mouth, her incoherent cries loud in the dark of their bedroom. Kit savored every sound and sensation as if it might be his last, storing them with past remembrances. With Miranda, tonight just might be his only opportunity to love her.

  He stilled, warming to the idea that the sensations she stirred might have a name. Had he loved her before she’d run away? He couldn’t remember ever ascribing his fascination for her with that deeper feeling, but he couldn’t deny it was a possibility. He had missed her, waited for her, and once she’d been found couldn’t be lost again without pain. Was this love or merely lust burning fooling him once more?

  He kissed her thigh and stayed close until the very last tremor shook her, then crawled to his side of the bed, flopping onto his back. He would not consummate their marriage without her explicit invitation, and not just a desire-shrouded encouragement either. He would have her say she wanted him in the brighter light of day where she could not pretend or claim she’d ever been tricked into it.

  As for the other, tomorrow would be soon enough to assess his emotions, with a cool head and not the fog of desire clouding his mind. The chances of him being in love with Miranda were slim and utterly impossible if she continued to resent being his wife. He wasn’t about to admit how that might hurt. It would be terrible to love and not have that love returned.

  Kit whispered good night and rolled to his side, facing away from Miranda so he stared into the darkest corner of the room, hoping and dreading that the morning would come soon and his aching cock would know when to give up hope on its own.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Miranda continued to feign sleep as Taverham went about his morning routine. Before their marriage, Taverham had skulked away the moment he was done with her. Well before the sun had risen so he wouldn’t be caught leaving her bed. Last night she’d listened to him fall asleep. The sudden absence of restlessness on his part and steady, even breaths had not allowed sleep to come easily to Miranda, though. She pondered his actions for hours. Why hadn’t he claimed her? It wasn’t as if he’d not entered her body before. She’d borne his son, after all.

  Her body hummed disturbingly at the memory of his touch even now, and she fought not to think of how eagerly she’d encouraged his ministrations last night.

  Today Taverham had woken, stretched, called for his breakfast and the day’s newssheet, all while prowling the room in a state of half-dress. Miranda found his ease this morning so different than she’d anticipated. He’d drawn the curtains around his bed quietly just before the servants had arrived and had opened them again when they were gone. Now he stood near the windows, likely out of sight should anyone dare look up. His expression was pensive.

  And painfully handsome.

  She cursed her traitorous emotions as her heartbeat quickened. Could she not keep straight that she disliked him? Her body too was making her decisions fly from her mind the moment he touched her anywhere. Even when he simply looked at her a certain way. It made her deception so much more of a betrayal if he actually convinced her he cared.

  Knowing she couldn’t maintain the charade indefinitely, she decided to make an effort to be at least civil to her husband this morning. He had behaved during the rest of the night after his scandalously placed kisses. He’d remained largely on his side of the bed, only waking her when he turned over and his arm or feet strayed close to her side. But when his breathing had evened out again in sleep she’d relaxed but couldn’t shake the feeling that lying in his bed wasn’t exactly the worst thing that had happened to her. They were married and he wasn’t at all repulsive.

  “Good morning,” she said softly, breaking the silence around them.

  His head turned and he scowled. “I thought you’d never wake.”

  Miranda was growing used to his expressions and didn’t bother to find offense in his abrupt tone. It seemed to be his way. He’d once smiled so much more. “I was awake. I was watching you.”

  That seemed to catch his interest. His scowl disappeared and he took a step in her direction. His bare chest swelled as he took a breath, and Miranda couldn’t keep her eyes on his face. She’d never seen him undressed by daylight, and the sight took her breath away.

  His face lost its grouchy appearance and heat filled his eyes. “I don’t know if you care for tea in the morning, but there is still some left. I hope it’s hot enough.”

  Aware he’d noticed her being distracted by his body, Miranda sat up quickly, settled some pillows behind her back, and drew the sheets up to her chest so she was decently covered. As she smoothed the soft sheets in place, she brushed over her breasts, finding the nipples hardened to little points. She shifted in discomfort, hoping he hadn’t seen. She’d not like there to be any misunderstandings about why she lingered in his bed this morning. She had very good reasons.

  Miranda never threw herself from bed at first light if she could help it. Her heart couldn’t stand the strain. “Let’s see.”

  He quickly passed her a cup and when she tried it, it wasn’t completely stone-cold. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stood back, hands falling to his hips. “I expect we will have many callers today.”

  Miranda tried to keep her eyes away from his midsection. With him dressed only in loose drawers of a kind she’d never seen on him before, Miranda’s face grew warm. The area his fingers pointed to had begun to grow. She jerked her gaze up. “Gawkers would be a more apt description.”

  “Likely you are correct. It cannot be helped, but I will stay with you every moment I can to discourage the worst of impertinences.” He bit his lip a moment. “Miranda, did you mean it last night? That you’re willing to keep whatever difficulties we have between us? I, too, should like to keep those concerns away from public consumption.”

  She tilted her head, trying her best to hide her amusement at his request. She didn’t care what society thought of her or their relationship. She’d happily be an example to any young heiress on the verge of marrying a penniless peer. Without love, lust wasn’t worth the trouble to risk your heart over. The feelings Taverham stirred in her were only lust, proven to be fueled currently by his state of undress. “And how do you propose to manage that?”

  “I should like you to continue your promise to only discuss the past with me.” He rubbed his hands together and the muscles of his chest flexed in a disturbing way. “I do not want a repeat of last night’s supper debacle. I don’t want you made upset again.”

  She shrugged as her attraction to his body grew despite her best intentions to keep her mind on the discus
sion at hand. Supper had been his fault, but not even that memory could seem to pour ice over her growing lust. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t expect me to dine with your friends and family.”

  He nodded slowly, as if agreeing. “I should also like to know where you are, where you’re planning to go, and who you spend your time with when I am not with you.”

  Any desire she’d felt in his presence vanished. “You mean to be my keeper.”

  “I mean to have the intelligence any married man expects.” He came closer, close enough that she could almost reach out and touch the hard flesh that was tempting her to crawl into his arms. “If you accept an invitation, I should like to know so I may fit my plans to yours and vice versa. For example, before your return I had accepted an invitation to the Huntley soiree tonight. I should like your presence on my arm.”

  “I see now why so many gowns were required and in such a rush.” Miranda slipped from the bed before she did something truly stupid and showed him how he disappointed her. The night ahead he planned would be awkward and uncomfortable. Strangers joking about Taverham’s need for an heir would be tedious when she couldn’t speak of Christopher’s existence to anyone. She headed for her bedchamber. “I can manage the farce that we are happy together instead of what we really are: strangers that married for my dowry.”

  Taverham stormed after her. “It wasn’t just that.”

  Miranda picked up her hairbrush from the dresser and gripped it tightly before she slapped him for lying to her face about his lack of feeling. “Please do not insult my intelligence. The lie that you desired more than my dowry has worn thin.”

  “Damn it, woman, as impossible as it seems to you, I did miss you.”