Elizabeth blinked at her groggily. "I—where—why are you here? Oh, I remember. I was ill, wasn't I?"
"Yes, and you have been asleep all afternoon. Are you feeling better?"
"I'm not sure." Elizabeth closed her eyes again as if was too much effort to keep them open. "I'm so tired."
"Would you like something to eat? Some broth, perhaps?''
But Elizabeth was already asleep again.
The fact that her stepmother had awakened reassured Miranda. She had not gone into a permanent unconsciousness, as Miranda had been beginning to fear. No doubt her illness that afternoon had simply worn her out. Sleep was, after all, the best curative.
Her father came in after that to check on his wife's condition, and Elizabeth awoke at the sound of his voice and said a few words. Feeling confident now that her stepmother was better, Miranda decided that she would not have to sleep on a cot in Elizabeth's room that night, as she had been beginning to think she would. It would be enough to have one of the maids there.
So after ringing for the maid and instructing her to awaken her if there was any alarming change in Elizabeth's condition, she made her way to her own bedroom. Her maid was there and had already brought in a slipper tub and was filling it with warm water, anticipating Miranda's wishes. She helped Miranda undress and get into the tub. After a long soak, Miranda felt much better, though her mind still worried over the question of Leona's visit to the abbey that afternoon.
If Devin did not tell her about it, what did it mean?
She pulled her nightgown on over her head and brushed out her hair, then climbed into bed. She was almost asleep when the door from Devin's room opened.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she tensed. Devin paused at the door. He carried a candlestick in one hand, and it cast a flickering light over his planed face. His eyes were dark, his cheeks shadowed. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open down the front Miranda watched, frozen, as he set the candle down, then crossed the room toward her.
He stopped beside the bed and stood gazing down at her for a long moment. The drapes at her window stood open, and enough moonlight came in that she could see his face.
He reached down and put his hand on her chest. His flesh was hot and faintly rough, and it trembled slightly with the thrum of his pulse. Miranda did not have to ask what he wanted. She knew.
She answered wordlessly, reaching up and putting her hand on his wrist, then sliding it upward.
"I want you." His voice was low and hoarse. "I don't think I've ever wanted anyone the way I want you."
His hand started a slow, enticing journey down her chest, sliding over her breasts and onto the plane of her stomach. Miranda did not speak, hardly breathed. She wanted him to go on. At this moment she no longer cared about her long-term plans for their marriage or whether he committed himself to her exclusively or what had happened today at the abbey. Right now, she knew, she would agree to almost anything as long as it meant that he would spend tonight in her bed. That was as much of their future as she could think of.
He spread his palm over her abdomen, spanning the width of it with his hand, then slid it over onto her hip and down her leg, coming back up and crossing to the other side.
"I want a real marriage," he said. "I don't want us to have a 'business' arrangement or go our separate ways. And I will not share your body with any man. I want you...and only you." He paused, then added, "I broke it off with Leona today."
Miranda drew in a sharp breath. "Devin..."
"Will you let me try to be a true husband?"
His hand slid back up her front, and Miranda could not contain a little shuddering moan. "Yes," was all she could manage to utter. "Yes..."
They came together with heat and urgency, tearing off their clothes and tossing them aside, the weeks of pent-up longing suddenly released into a flood of passion. His mouth was hot and seeking; hers no less so. They kissed and caressed, their eager bodies flush against each other, rolling across the large bed. Devin could not get enough of Miranda—the taste, the feel, the smell, of her. He had been hungering for her for weeks, and now she was in his arms, pliable and warm and as eager for him as he was for her. He kissed her over and over, his lips roaming her face and throat and down onto her chest, coming to rest on the sublimely soft mound of her breast. He cupped the orb with his hand as his mouth explored the bud of her nipple, teasing it with tongue and lips and teeth until Miranda was moaning and arching up off the bed, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
Heat exploded in Miranda's abdomen, desire pooling between her legs. She ached for him. Her hands swept over Dev, eager to learn all the textures of him—the hard bone of his skull and ribs, the thick curve of muscles across his back, the soft skin of his abdomen that trembled when her fingers roamed there, the coarse, curling hair on his chest that swept down in a thin line to his stomach, then lower.... Every part of him was enticing, intriguing, and she thought that she could have gone on for hours exploring him if it had not been for the ever tightening knot of urgency in her loins, the pleasurable ache between her legs that yearned for fulfillment.
She breathed his name, and he swallowed it with a consuming kiss. As he kissed her, his hand glided slowly down her body. His fingers moved over her abdomen and down her thigh, then back up, stroking and teasing, coming ever closer to the heated center of her passion, until finally, when Miranda thought she could bear it no longer, his hand slipped between her legs, finding the hot, moist center of her. A groan escaped Miranda, and she shuddered, stunned by the pleasure, greater than any she had ever experienced, yet, contradictorily, not enough. His fingers soothed her ache even as they increased it, both taming and emboldening her, giving and withholding, until she thought she would go mad with the wild hot delight he created in her.
His fingers separated the slick folds of her femininity, exploring and caressing, slipping inside her, then retreating. She moved her hips against him, urging him on to completion, but he continued his erotic caresses with maddening slowness. Something was building inside Miranda, wild and furious, a knot that tightened and grew with each caress, until she was almost sobbing, and then it exploded within her like wildfire. She gasped and arched her hips upward, her muscles tightening as pleasure swept through her in waves, until finally she collapsed, panting and filled with the most luxurious contentment she had ever felt.
"Devin..." His name was a sigh on her lips, and she looked up at him dreamily.
Desire speared him at her reaction, and he could wait no longer. He moved between her legs and slid into her. Miranda drew in her breath at the new sensation. She had thought she could feel no more pleasure after the storm that had just swept through her, but she found now that she was capable of even more. He filled her, bringing a completion and fulfillment that she had never known existed. They were joined, truly one, and for the first time she understood the unity of love. He belonged to her and she to him.
She wrapped her legs and arms around Devin, holding him tightly to her as he began to move inside her. Her breath shuddered out as he stroked in and out, building again that knot of desire within her. She could scarcely believe that it was happening again, only even more wonderfully this time, for he was part of her as she felt the waves of pleasure erupt in her again, and as she rode the crest of her passion, he joined her, shuddering and muffling his cry of passion in the crook of her neck.
They clung to each other, lost to the rest of the world, boneless and content.
******************
Devin awakened slowly. He felt, for the first time that he could remember, utterly and completely at peace. He turned his head and looked at the woman who lay beside him. Miranda was still asleep, her dark lashes shadowing her cheeks, her face innocent and vulnerable in sleep, her vibrant hair a tangle upon the pillow. She was beautiful, he thought, and wondered how he could ever have thought she was anything less. Last night had been a first for him, as well as for Miranda. He had never felt such hunger and need, such pleasure, such satisfaction and joy. Even all of Leona's seductive wiles had never made him explode with not only release but also happiness.
He reached over and touched her cheek with his finger, slowly drawing it down to her jaw. Miranda's eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at him sleepily, a smile curving her lips.
"Good morning," she murmured.
"Good morning." He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. "How are you?"
"Fine." Miranda's smile widened. "More than fine, really. I am wonderful."
"That you are," he agreed and kissed her again, more lingeringly this time.
Hunger stirred in him again, not with the razor-edge sharpness he had known the past few weeks, but deep and urgent. He enjoyed the feeling, knowing that it would be satisfied now. This morning, the fiercest urges satisfied, he could spend his time, could explore and learn her feminine secrets, teach her the wealth of delight that lay within her.
He could feel her smile beneath his lips as she curved her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the pleasure. They moved at a leisurely pace this morning, giving and receiving, enjoying every nuance of their passion. And when they reached their peak of desire, the explosion that rocked them was both familiar and new, as powerful as what they had experienced the night before.
It was, Miranda thought afterward, quite a lovely way to start off the day.
They lay together talking desultorily for some time after that. They talked about little of consequence, but it was sweet to lie in such a way, going over the intertwined bits and pieces of their lives. They talked about his painting of the abbey ruins and the shortcomings of Strong, the estate manager. Miranda pointed out that there were many things she still needed to see, such as the part of the estate that lay in the Roaches and some of the estate farms, not to mention parts of the ruined west wing and the house cellars.
"The cellars?" Devin repeated with a chuckle. "Why would you want to see those?"
"I want to see everything," Miranda replied simply. "Every part of the house."
"They are huge. They stretch under most of the central portion of Darkwater. And they're old. I'm not entirely sure they are safe."
"Are there dungeons?"
He laughed again. "There's your father's daughter speaking. As far as I know, they were used only for storing things—huge amounts of things. There are some small locked rooms, however...."
"Really?" Miranda turned on her side to look at him, intrigued.
"Yes, really. More storage rooms, where they locked munitions and valuables, I'm afraid."
Miranda grimaced. "You have no sense of romance."
"And here I thought I was terribly romantic." He smiled lazily, trailing his finger down her neck and onto her chest.
A little quiver darted through Miranda. "Well, in some respects you are...."
He kissed her, effectively ending the conversation.
It was some time later when they made their way down to breakfast. Everyone else in the family had already eaten and gone on their way, so the two of them were alone. It was not until they were almost through with the meal that Miranda guiltily remembered that her stepmother was ill and she had not even checked on her this morning.
As soon as Devin left for the abbey ruins, she trotted up the stairs to Elizabeth's room. The maid was dutifully sitting with her stepmother, just as Miranda had left her the night before. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was awake at last, sitting up in bed with a number of pillows propped behind her. She looked far better than she had the day before, though her skin was still pasty, her lips dried and cracked, and her eyes had large dark circles under them that were at odds with the long hours of sleep she had gotten the day before.
"How are you, Elizabeth?" Miranda asked, coming forward and nodding at the maid that she could leave.
"Miranda. My love. I am improved, I think." Elizabeth shook her head. "Still a little fuzzy, though. It is the oddest thing. I don't think I have ever felt quite this way before. I kept waking up last night and falling back asleep. I couldn't keep my eyes open for any length of time. My stomach hurts...and my head." She sighed.
"Well, thank heaven it seems to be over and you are on the mend," Miranda said encouragingly.
Elizabeth reached out and patted Miranda's hand. "Nan was just telling me how you sat with me all yesterday. Didn't even go down to eat. You are such a sweet girl."
"I was concerned about you," Miranda replied honestly. "You slept so much."
Elizabeth frowned. "Yes. I did. It's odd."
Miranda stayed for a few minutes longer, talking, but she could see that she was wearing Elizabeth out, so she left her to go back to sleep once again and Miranda went down to the library to work.
She found it hard going keeping her mind on the books and Mr. Strong's less than lucid explanations of the estate's workings. So that afternoon she went to the stables and had a horse saddled for her, and she rode out to the abbey ruins. She and Devin had ridden to the abbey before; it was one of her favorite places on the estate. But today it had an additional appeal.
Devin was there, painting, but he readily stopped when he saw Miranda. She had brought a small picnic lunch that Cook had made up for them, and they ate it, sitting in the shadow of one of the still-standing walls.