Truly a Wife

  “Might it have been possible for you to set the basin near the fire to warm the water?” he inquired just as sweetly. “Because your ill-tempered accusation couldn’t be further from the truth.” He winced as Miranda scrubbed a bit harder with the soapy cloth than was necessary.

  “You couldn’t prove it by me.” Miranda looked down at him. “ ‘You sewed me up with pastel thread?’ ” she repeated, mimicking his tone. “ ‘You couldn’t match Mistress Beekins’s serviceable black? Don’t they make silk thread in black?’ Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to sew you up at all? Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to push a needle and thread—any color thread—through your flesh? I had to borrow your liquid courage and finish off what was left in your flask to keep my hands from shaking. And the entire time I was stitching your wound in sky-blue silk, I prayed I wasn’t doing you further harm … Wondering if you were going to live or die …” Miranda began to cry and angrily wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “Are you so spoiled and arrogant that you’ve forgotten other people have feelings? Or have you simply forgotten that I have feelings? Feelings you seem to enjoy trampling?” She looked at him and shook her head. “The devil take you, Daniel! Have you, after all these years, finally become your mother’s son? And if so, what in Hades do you want from me?”

  Daniel was momentarily stunned by Miranda’s outburst. They had been getting along so well, and then he’d gone and spoiled it with an uncharacteristic blunder. What did it matter what color his stitches were, so long as she had repaired the damage? Daniel clamped his jaw shut. But seeing sky-blue stitches in his side had come as a surprise.

  Had he finally become his mother’s son? Was he guilty of being callous and insensitive to the feelings of others? He didn’t think so.

  But he was guilty of being insensitive to Miranda’s feelings.

  He’d made her cry. Twice in one day. And Miranda never resorted to tears, never resorted to the weapon women had used against men since the beginning of time. Miranda fought back with wit and words and wisdom. She didn’t cry. At least, Daniel had never known her to cry.

  Until today.

  Of course, he’d never asked the sort of favors from her that he had last night or this morning. He had never depended upon her to stitch his wound or to sit with him during the night or keep him safe and warm. But Daniel knew that everyone had a breaking point, and Miranda had apparently reached hers.

  And no wonder.

  Not only had he trampled her feelings, but he had asked more of her than he had ever asked of anyone. Daniel grimaced. He hadn’t asked. He’d demanded. He’d ambushed her and demanded that she put her reputation and her emotions at risk by doing his bidding without regard for her feelings or for the consequences.

  Blister it! He couldn’t remember all the details of the previous evening, but he remembered this morning. Daniel was ashamed of himself. Miranda was right. He had thought the worst of her instead of the best. He had been demanding and ungracious and ungrateful. He wanted to blame it on his massive headache, but Daniel knew that he had, much to his chagrin, finally become his mother’s son!

  He’d expected Miranda to do the near impossible. And she’d done it. He shuddered. Miranda had kept him from bleeding to death, and he’d thanked her by criticizing the color of the thread she’d used. She’d been the best friend for whom any man could ask, and he’d treated her shabbily.

  Daniel closed his eyes. He’d thanked Mistress Beekins for her care and had gone so far as to show his gratitude by giving her money. He hadn’t been nearly as gracious to Miranda, and her task had been more difficult. Daniel had tried to thank her, of course, but his attempts had been so awkward and condescending that Miranda had threatened him with bodily harm if he complimented or thanked her again.

  Mistress Beekins was a common woman with a husband and grown sons engaged in a very dangerous enterprise. Mistress Beekins was a midwife and a healer, accustomed to performing menial labor and tending the sick and wounded.

  Miranda was a lady, a peer of the realm, an unmarried woman who had been born into a position that enabled her to have servants who took care of her every need. The only menial task Miranda had ever performed was weeding flowerbeds and cutting the blossoms. And she only performed those when she felt like gardening.

  And now she was bathing him, cleansing the wound she’d sewn up, and assisting him with the most intimate of tasks. Daniel shuddered. The thought of pushing a needle and thread through her tender flesh sent cold shivers down his spine. And although he was not intimately acquainted with Miranda’s body, Daniel was intimately acquainted with the female body.

  As far as he knew, Miranda had never seen a naked man, much less bathed one.

  She had dried her tears and composed herself by the time Daniel opened his eyes and reached up to take hold of her hand. “I owe you an apology, Miranda.”

  “I accept.”

  Daniel had expected her to make him grovel a bit. “Don’t you want to hear it?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Why not?” he demanded.

  “Because you’re not very good at them,” she answered.

  “What makes you think that?” Daniel asked, genuinely curious.

  “You’re a duke, Daniel.”

  “So?”

  “You’re out of practice, because no one ever expects a duke to apologize or allows you to do so.”

  Miranda spoke the truth as she saw it, and Daniel rewarded her honesty with a smile. He was out of practice among most members of the ton for exactly the reasons Miranda mentioned. His friends in the Free Fellows and Miranda were the exception. “No one expects an unmarried lady to do what you’re doing either.”

  “Which is?”

  “Bathe a naked man.”

  Miranda gave him a mysterious smile.

  Daniel was intrigued in spite of himself. “You haven’t have you?”

  “Haven’t what?” She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes in a way that could only be called coy.

  It was the first time Daniel had ever seen Miranda behave in such a manner. Flirtation had never been her forte. “Seen a naked man before?”

  “How impolite of you to ask, Your Grace.” Miranda ran the bathing cloth over Daniel’s torso, rinsed off the soap, then dried him with a length of toweling.

  Daniel smiled once again. He was beginning to read her state of mind. Her use of his style was telling. Miranda only called him, “Your Grace,” when she was angry or upset with him. “Impolite or not, I’m asking, milady.”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  Daniel pursed his lips in thought. The Marchioness of St. Germaine was full of surprises today. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Whom?” His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “What man caught your fancy? Come now,” he coaxed, “you can tell me. Was it the gallant Patrick Hollister with whom you danced this evening, or …”

  “Last evening,” Miranda corrected.

  “Last evening,” he amended. “Or was it Linton? Carville? Nash? Or the Austrian archduke?”

  Daniel had seen her dancing with Lord Hollister, but Miranda gasped in surprise when he named the others. They were the gentlemen who’d seen her at Almack’s last season and attempted to court her. She hadn’t seriously considered any of them because she wanted Daniel. And she hadn’t realized Daniel had been paying such close attention. “What do you know about those gentlemen?”

  “I know Hollister is a good man who would make you a good husband,” he answered truthfully. “I know that Linton and Nash are fortune hunters, and that Carville’s very well set but has rather interesting alliances. The Austrian archduke is, well—” He paused, trying to find fault with the young, handsome archduke. “Austrian. And not at all suitable for you.”

  “I vow that if your opinion of me gets any higher, I shall die from the lack of atmosphere.”

  “I’m only trying to look out for you.” br />
  “Do you take me for a complete ninny?” she demanded. “I know Lord Hollister is a good man. I was friends with Clea, his late wife. And I know Linton and Nash are fortune hunters. Everyone knows they’re fortune hunters. To you and to other members of the ton, I may appear desperate to marry, but I refused their persistent offers to court me. I’m not desperate enough to consider marriage with gentlemen who don’t give a fig about my family heritage, or me—gentlemen who would marry a Jersey cow if she came with a lofty title and a healthy fortune.” She glared at Daniel. “Do you really believe I would marry someone who would go through my fortune and leave me to fend for myself? Or that I would ever leave England to marry an archduke, no matter how attractive or wealthy? And what makes you think that I don’t know that Lord Carville prefers young men?”

  Daniel widened his eyes in surprise. “You allowed him to pay court to you.”

  “I allowed him to pay a call,” Miranda corrected, “to state his business. He proposed generous terms for a suitable marriage arrangement. I refused.”

  Daniel was momentarily stunned. “Carville proposed?”

  “Yes, Daniel, Carville proposed to me last season.” She pinned him with an unwavering gaze. “Is that so surprising? You proposed to me last night.”

  “I was drunk last night,” he defended.

  “Lord Carville was sober last season,” Miranda told him. “But I refused him just the same.”

  Daniel reached up and raked his fingers through his hair. “I had no idea that you were aware of Carville’s proclivity. It’s a very well kept secret.” It was such a well kept secret that had he thought Miranda was serious about marrying the man, Daniel would have been forced to warn her about Carville’s mating habits himself.

  “Pooh!” she exclaimed. “My footman warned me about Lord Carville, and that was before Carville propositioned him. I may not understand exactly how two men …” She let that thought trail away. She didn’t understand exactly how a man and a woman made love either. “But I know there are men who prefer other men, but who require a wife and an heir all the same.

  “And while I appreciate the offer, I don’t need you to keep my secret, Your Grace, for you have more than enough to worry about in keeping your own.” Miranda’s cheeks flushed with color when she realized she hadn’t meant to go quite that far. She consoled herself by answering Daniel’s question. “And to answer your question: I helped bathe my father during his last illness.”

  “Your father?” Daniel showed his discomfort at the physical comparison. “The only nude male body you’ve ever seen was your father’s?”

  “Except for paintings and statues and yours.” She looked at him from beneath her lashes once again.

  “Your father was an old man, Miranda,” he said. “I am not.”

  “Ned said as much when he helped me undress you.”

  “Oh?” He glanced around.

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “And he told me you wouldn’t appreciate the comparison to my father, but I assured him that as far as I was concerned, one naked male is very much like another.”

  Daniel laughed, a rich full-bodied laugh that made his ribs hurt like the very devil. “Only a woman of your vast experience,” he emphasized the word, “could make such a patently ridiculous statement. That’s like saying all horses are black in the dark.”

  She folded a clean square of bandage, then leaned over him to tie it in place.

  Daniel gaped as the lapels of her brocade robe opened wide enough to give him an unhampered view of her truly spectacular bosom.

  “Aren’t they, Your Grace?”

  Magnificent. Superlative. Gorgeous. Tempting. “Aren’t they what?” It took Daniel a moment to comprehend her question.

  “All horses black in the dark.”

  Daniel reached up, without warning, tangled his fingers in Miranda’s hair, gently pulled her face to his, and kissed her.

  The first touch of his lips on hers was tentative, like the soft touch of a moth’s wings. He kissed her gently, lightly, allowing Miranda time to become accustomed to the taste and touch of him. Then he slowly moved his mouth over hers, nibbling at the corners of her mouth, tasting and testing the texture of her lips before gently coaxing them to part.

  And like a moth drawn to a candle flame, Miranda succumbed to the lure of Daniel.

  He swept his tongue past her lips, inside the warm, sweet recesses of her mouth, inhaling her breath as he did so, taking his time persuading her to grant him further liberties.

  Miranda gave a soft sigh of surrender, leaned closer, and did as he willed, tentatively meeting his questing tongue with her own. Her breath quickened and her heart began a rapid tattoo as she explored the interior of his mouth and urged him to continue his exploration of hers.

  She felt the blood rushing through her body as he stopped exploring the interior of her mouth long enough to nibble at her lips once again, tracing the texture of them with a light brush of his mouth, warming her in places she’d never realized could become so feverish.

  Her legs began to quake, and Miranda thought her knees would buckle from the force of the white-hot emotion flowing through her. He urged her closer as he deepened his kiss. His tongue delved deep into the lush sweetness of her mouth, and she mirrored his actions as he plundered the depths, then retreated into politeness, before plundering again.

  Daniel loosened his hold on Miranda’s hair, sliding his hand out of her hair, down the line of her jaw, beneath her heavy tresses, where he cupped the nape of her neck while he tenderly massaged her earlobe with the pad of his thumb.

  Miranda had never felt anything so soothing or so exhilarating. He tasted of cherries and coffee and a flavor that could only be Daniel. And suddenly Miranda developed an immense craving for cherries and coffee à la Daniel.

  She’d been kissed before, but never like this. She had no idea kissing could be so extraordinarily wonderful. The only other kisses she’d ever received had been mere brushes of lips upon her gloved fingers, or wrists, or a slight brush of lips against her face or eyelids. The closest Daniel had ever come to kissing her had been the brush of his lips against the corner of her mouth that had sealed their wedding vows the night before. And that slight touch of his lips against her flesh couldn’t begin to compare with this.

  No wonder mothers warned their daughters against allowing gentlemen to kiss them full on the lips. No wonder girls fell from grace every season. Running off with dancing masters and army officers, eloping to Scotland or sailing off to ports unknown. If other men kissed half as well as Daniel, if other girls felt half of what she was feeling, it was a wonder there were any maidens left in England.

  He swept her mouth with his tongue again, and Miranda moaned her pleasure.

  Daniel heard her soft moan, and somewhere in the midst of kissing her, he forgot she was inexperienced. He blazed a path with the palm of his hand from the soft curls at the nape of her neck, over her shoulder, down her arm, and inside the open lapels of her robe. Gently cupping the soft underside of her breast, Daniel skimmed his fingers over her supple flesh, caressing one rosy-tipped crest with the pad of his thumb before turning his attention to the rosy tip of her other breast and massaging it.

  Her breasts plumped, the tips hardened into insistent little points, clamoring for more attention, and the jolt of electricity that went through her body at the boldness of his kiss settled in the region between her thighs causing an unremitting ache for something she couldn’t name—something she suspected Daniel would have no trouble recognizing or supplying.

  Miranda shivered involuntarily as Daniel tugged at the sash of her brocade robe, then slipped it off her shoulders and down her arms, baring her body from the waist up.

  He kissed her once more, then gently urged her to take a step backward so he could get a good look at her.

  “Are you certain, Your Grace?” she murmured against his lips.

  “Very certain.” His voice was deep and rough. “Unlike you, my lovely marchi
oness, I know better than to believe the dark makes all horses black.”

  Miranda stepped back and pushed the robe over her hips, allowing it to fall in a puddle at her feet.

  “Miranda?” Daniel’s voice rose as he studied her tall, statuesque, and flawless body from the tip of her shining auburn head, over her beautiful breasts, past her flat stomach and the curve of her slim hips, to the auburn triangle at the juncture of her long shapely legs.

  “It’s only fair that you get a look at my naked body, Your Grace.” Miranda amazed herself with her boldness. “After all, I’ve gotten a very good look at yours. You might say I’ve made quite a study of it.”

  “And?”

  “You’re incomparable,” she said softly. “The dark doesn’t make all horses black, it only makes it harder to see their true colors.”

  “And you’re having trouble discerning my true color?” He phrased it as a question, but Daniel already knew the answer. He saw it in the troubled expression on Miranda’s face, recognized the blaze of newly awakened desire and the confusion it brought.

  She nodded. “My head warns me to be wary, but my heart encourages me to give you whatever you want from me.” She looked him in the eye. “What do you want from me, Daniel?”

  “At this moment, I want nothing more than to be the man who introduces you to the delights of lovemaking,” he answered.

  “Because you want me or because you want to make love to me?”

  Daniel sucked in a breath as the question sliced through his viscera. He knew what she wanted to hear. He could say the words and have her. But Miranda was honest and straightforward, and he couldn’t be anything less with her.

  “I want to make love to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, bending to pick up the robe she’d dropped on the floor. “But I’m saving myself for my husband.”