Suzanna Medeiros (3 page)

She couldn’t blame them for all that followed. They’d acted in what they considered to be her best interests and she’d relented. She knew in Andrew’s eyes it did not speak well to her character that she’d so easily acquiesced to her parents’ desires.

And it hadn’t been a horrible marriage. She’d been content enough over the years despite the fact theirs had not been a marriage based on love. Robert had treated her like a pet he doted upon, and she’d done her best not to dwell on what might have been. Andrew had left for Europe just before her marriage had taken place, and she’d been grateful she didn’t need to worry about running into him in Town. And when she’d learned of his return a few years later, she’d fled, retiring to spend the majority of her time at Hathaway’s estate in Northampton.

Over the years she’d managed to accept her lot in life, but she’d never forgotten him. When her solicitor had asked her if it was possible she was with child, she’d known she wasn’t. Robert had been eager to conceive a child with her and had visited her regularly over the years, but had stopped a few short months ago when he fell ill.

That question, though, had sparked a ridiculous idea that wouldn’t leave her. Especially when she realized she now had an excuse to approach Andrew and attempt to fill the emptiness that had grown inside her since she’d let her parents convince her to give him up.

She had no illusions that he’d been pining for her all these years, just as she was also under no illusion about her likelihood of falling with child from their time together. She hadn’t been able to conceive a child in the twelve years of her marriage, and since Robert already had an illegitimate daughter when they married, she knew the fault lay with her. Her courses had never come regularly, not like they did with other women, and as the years passed she had no other option than to accept the fact she was barren.

But now she had an opportunity—an opportunity she would not so easily throw away as she’d done when she was a foolish girl of eighteen. She would finally learn what it was like to be physically intimate with the man she loved.

She tested the door and, finding it unlocked, let herself in. Two oil lamps lit the hallway, but other than that the house seemed empty. In the unnerving quiet, her heart sounded loud to her own ears. She took an inventory of her surroundings and saw right away the rooms on the main floor were dark, but light beckoned from the second level. Unnerved by the silence and the gloom surrounding her, she made her way upstairs, the light serving as a beacon.

The door to the room at the top of the stairs was ajar, and when she pushed it open, she wasn’t surprised to find herself in a bedroom. Most of the furniture was simple but for one notable exception—the bed. It dominated the small space, appearing a good deal larger than any she’d ever seen. The curtains at the windows were closed, the light from the fireplace and an oil lamp on the sole bedside table making the room seem cozy and welcoming. Miranda moved to the fire blazing in the hearth and held out her hands to warm them. It was still early enough in the spring that evenings were much cooler than during the day.

Questions rose, unbidden, about just how many other women Andrew had brought here over the years, but she pushed the unwanted thoughts from her mind. She had no right to begrudge him the companionship of other women. Not after she had denied him her own.

She spun around at the sound of a floorboard creaking behind her and found herself face-to-face with Andrew. He stood several feet away, his features in shadow, which somehow made the effect of his presence more intimate since it highlighted what they were both here to do.

She had a moment of doubt, wondering if the now mature Earl of Sanderson could live up to her memories of the young Andrew Osborne she’d met and fallen in love with twelve years before. He was different, harder, but the years had been good to him. The attractive, charming young man had blossomed into a man of account.

He wore his hair short now. She remembered how, when it was longer, the brown had been threaded through with blond highlights that had given him a tousled, almost boyish appearance. In its current close-cropped style, his hair looked much darker than its medium brown. His face had also lost its youthful appearance, the slight roundness gone. It was more angled than she remembered, his square jaw and cheekbones more prominent.

His eyes, however, were the same. A medium green unlike any she had ever seen before or since. She used to adore gazing into them when they danced at those many balls that one season they’d had together. But now they mocked her. Gone was the warmth she’d once found in their depths.

Her heart was racing… whether from fear or anticipation, she wasn’t sure. Probably a little of both. She did her best to keep her breathing even, however. Having made such an outrageous proposition as asking him to help her conceive a child, she could hardly act the part of a shy virgin. At any rate, she was far from being that.

It seemed Andrew planned to just stand there, probably hoping to make her nervous, so she broke the silence. “I find it hard to believe we are both here, about to do this thing.”

He raised a brow. “You cannot possibly be more surprised than I.”

He bridged the last few steps that separated them, stopping only when their bodies were almost touching. She knew then he wanted to intimidate her. Gain the upper hand. She wouldn’t allow her nervousness to show, but she did feel at a disadvantage when she had to tilt her head back to look up at him.

For one horrible moment she feared he expected her to act first. Relief flooded through her, therefore, when he took her hands in his much larger ones and brought them up, around his neck. He was so much taller than her that in this position her body was flush against his.

Everything else faded away as they stood like that, she pressed against him, their eyes locked and the air of anticipation swirling around them. Gone were the memories of the many unsatisfactory couplings she’d shared with her husband. The panic she’d undergone when he’d died and she realized she was now truly alone in the world, for she would never again go back to her family and allow them to control her life. Even the desperation that had led her to proposition the Earl of Sanderson so she could finally feel, if only for a little while, what it was like to be happy again.

For she was happy just being here with him. She hadn’t expected that.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re still sure you want to do this,” he said.

She had no second thoughts, but his statement surprised her. The Andrew she’d known had always been considerate to a fault.

She spoke around a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to know if you’ve changed your mind. You made your offer and I accepted. There’s no turning back now.”

He’d lowered his head and his last words were spoken against her lips. When she opened her mouth to reply—she couldn’t say with what—he took it as an invitation to kiss her. This time there was no gradual buildup. The kiss was hot and hungry, and she dove into it without hesitation.

Yes, this was what she wanted. Andrew holding her, kissing her as though he wanted to devour her. His hands moved to her backside and pressed her more firmly against his impressive erection. She realized she was making mewling sounds low in her throat. Perhaps she should have been embarrassed in case he believed her wanton, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. With this man only, she
felt
wanton. Deliciously so.

He must have taken her physical response as the answer to the question he hadn’t wanted to ask and walked her backward until her legs bumped against the edge of that enormous bed. He moved away from her then, but only a fraction so he could lift her into his arms and deposit her in the center. He joined her there, covering her with the heat of his body, and she shivered with need. This was nothing like the rushed, emotionless couplings she’d shared with her husband.

She expected him to raise her skirts and bury himself inside her, so was confused when he levered himself away to kneel on the bed beside her.

“Is something the matter?” She was shocked at how hoarse her voice sounded to her own ears.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

She didn’t protest when he pulled her into a kneeling position before him and removed the cloak she’d only just realized she was still wearing. He made a strangled sound when he saw the red gown she wore with its very low bodice. She’d been uncertain whether to be so brazen when dressing, but now she was glad she’d chosen the provocative dress.

“I promise to take time to appreciate you in that dress later, but for now, it has to go.”

He shifted until he was behind her and started to work his way down the row of buttons. Her mind blanked. Surely he didn’t mean to actually disrobe her? Never, in all her years of marriage, had Hathaway removed her clothing. Then again, she’d always worn her nightdress when he came to her, so perhaps Andrew would stop when she was down to her chemise.

Her wayward thoughts scattered when he loosened her stays. When the undergarment was held up only by the loosened bodice of her gown, he placed his warm hands on her shoulders and lowered her dress. She moved to take her arms out of the sleeves, but he pulled the garment tight around her again, stilling her movement. She remained that way, her arms trapped, her breathing quickening, while he drew the stays from her body. He pulled her back against him and cupped her breasts through her chemise.

He groaned and the sound echoed deep within her. He completely surrounded her. The coolness of his satin waistcoat chilled her back through her thin chemise while his warm hands squeezed and played with her breasts. Not caring what he might think of her, knowing only that she needed more of what he was doing to her, she let her head fall back against his shoulder and thrust her breasts more firmly into his hands. When he tweaked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, she moaned. Heat spread from his hands and traveled though her body, moving across her belly and settling lower, between her legs.

She struggled against the constraints of her dress and he relented, moving away and helping her to remove her arms and allowing the dress to fall to the bed around her. She tried to turn and reach for him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He untied the tape at the top of her chemise and before she realized his intention, he’d dragged her undergarment down as well. She should have been embarrassed, kneeling on the bed, all her clothes pooled around her, but at that point she was far from caring about her modesty. She craved the touch of his hands on her body again, and the idea of lying bare-skinned with him was more exciting than she could have imagined.

She expected him to touch her breasts again, waited almost breathlessly for it. With a low curse, he moved from the bed and started removing his own clothing. She watched, her attention riveted on his quick, efficient movements as he cast aside his topcoat and waistcoat, untied his cravat, and drew his shirt over his head.

She’d known his chest was broader now—assumed it had happened when he’d shaken off the last of his youthful appearance—but she hadn’t realized he was so muscular. He looked back at her then and, catching her staring at him, let out a sound she could only describe as a growl.

He made quick work of his shoes, trousers, and smallclothes, then stood there, fully erect before her, as though waiting for her to comment.

“When you marry one day, your wife will be most fortunate.”

At his scowl she realized it was the wrong thing to say, but she didn’t have time to examine why. He climbed back onto the bed, and when he eased her onto her back, she went willingly. He slid an arm under her hips, lifting her so he could strip her gown and chemise from where it had tangled against her legs. She could only stare at him, her breathing heavy, as he removed first one slipper, tracing his fingers along the high arch of her foot, then the other. He repeated the caress before smoothing his hands along her calves. When he reached her knees, she feared she’d stop breathing, but he continued until he reached her garters. They were red, like her dress.

“Did you wear these for me?” he asked, stroking the skin above them.

His eyes, when they met hers again, were a dark green, and the emotion she saw reflected there told her he was just as affected as she.

In truth, she hadn’t expected him to see the garters, but she nodded in response. He rewarded her with quick kisses, high on each thigh, through her drawers, and she almost jumped out of her skin. He rolled the garters and stockings from her legs and cast the flimsy garments away. His smooth movements told her more than anything else that this was far from the first time he had performed such an intimate action with a woman.

When he started to remove her drawers, panic surged through her. She grabbed his forearms, halting him.

“Must you?”

She’d barely managed the words as she felt the first real twinges of alarm.

“All or nothing, Miranda.”

She hesitated only a moment longer before nodding. She squeezed her eyes closed and lifted her hips while he removed the garment, unbearably self-conscious. She knew he was staring at her body, taking in the sight of her hips, which were as slender as a boy’s, and her most intimate of places. Not even her husband had seen her completely in the nude.

He eased himself over her, and she moaned at the feel of his hot, hard body, pressing her into the mattress, his erection branding the outside of her thigh. She fought the urge to run her hands all over the smooth expanse of his skin.

“Open your eyes,” he said, his voice rough. “When I take you, I want you to know who you’re with.”

She could hardly mistake this man for her husband. The two did not even appear to belong to the same species. She opened her eyes and they stayed like that for what seemed a lifetime, his eyes ensnaring hers and their bodies touching from chest to thigh. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but their mouths met in a hot, urgent kiss.

She brought her hands up to encircle his neck, her fingers weaving into his short hair and keeping his head right where she wanted it. Her mouth opened wide, allowing him full access. He took advantage, but she didn’t remain passive. Her tongue tangled with his and she gave as good as he.