Audley House!” Sebastian ordered the coachman as he yanked open the carriage door and set her inside on the bench. As he swung inside and slammed the door closed, he pounded his fist against the roof, and the carriage set off with a lurch.
Miranda’s heart pounded furiously. He was angry, far angrier than she had ever seen him. He leaned forward, elbows on knees as he glared at her through the shadows of the dark compartment.
“What in the hell happened between you two?” His voice seethed with such white-hot anger that it shook.
She lifted her chin, preparing for battle. She refused—simply refused!—to show any weakness in front of him by looking away. Instead, she boldly glared back, silently daring him to keep pushing…because after the night she’d had, she’d gladly push back.
“I did nothing wrong,” she defended herself. “I left Robert and Miss Morgan by the folly, and I was walking back to the box when Burton Williams met me on the path and remembered me from the St James ball. He insisted that he escort me back, to protect me.” She nearly laughed at the irony of that. “I declined. But apparently, he isn’t used to being refused by women.”
His jaw clenched so hard that even in the dark shadows she could see the muscles in his neck working as he ground his teeth. “Did he hurt you?”
“Just my arm.” She winced as she rubbed her forearm where Williams had grabbed her. Surely there would be a bruise in the morning.
“Before I arrived,” he clarified slowly. He clenched and unclenched his fists in a cold, restrained fury that made her shiver. His eyes were black. “Did that bastard force himself on you?”
Understanding fell through her like ice water, dousing her own anger. Sebastian wasn’t upset at her; he was furious at Burton Williams. So furious that if she uttered the wrong word she knew he would turn the carriage around, charge back to Vauxhall, and murder the man for daring to touch her.
“No,” she breathed, her eyes never leaving his. “He did not.”
Heaving out a harsh breath, he leaned back against the squabs and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I have to serve with Williams’s father in the Lords. Houghton and I fill the same committees.” He bit out a curse beneath his breath as he shook his head. “What would my father say about this?”
She whispered, “That he would be proud of you for coming to a woman’s defense.”
“The same woman I nearly ruined myself at the opera?” he challenged quietly.
Her chest tightened in sympathy for him, that he should doubt himself so severely in his father’s eyes. “You and Williams are nothing alike. You’re a gentleman who would never force his attentions on a woman.” She couldn’t read the emotions on his face through the dark shadows, but his shoulders remained stiff, his dark silhouette rigid in the swaying carriage. He didn’t believe her. “If you’re not a gentleman, then why did you give me that paper rose tonight?”
“Because I was anything but a gentleman to you.” His voice matched the same low rumble of the carriage wheels over the streets. “I had no right to speak to you the way I did.”
A smile pulled at her lips. All his silly warnings…“See? Williams would never have—”
“And absolutely no right to do what I did at the opera. I forgot myself.” He held her gaze across the dark compartment. “It was a mistake.”
Her heart skipped painfully. Hoping she’d heard him incorrectly, or that she’d simply misunderstood what he meant, she repeated in a stunned whisper, “A mistake?”
He answered soberly, “Yes.”
The single word tore through her, ripping into her chest and squeezing so hard at her heart she thought it might pop. She blinked back the stinging that burned in her eyes.
“Which?” she somehow forced out despite the way her heart lodged into her throat. “Kissing me, touching me…or implying that you wanted me?”
“All of it.” Shadows covered his face, making it impossible for her to read the emotions in him, but an underlying frustration scratched his voice. “I should never have kissed you like that or said those things to you. I didn’t mean them.”
“Then why did you?” She forced a steadiness into her voice she certainly didn’t feel.
“I lost my head that evening. I was swept up by the music. That was all.” He paused, then added quietly, “And I’m grateful that you came to your senses and put a stop to it.”
She stared at him through the darkness, even as hot tears welled in her eyes and blurred his darkened face. It shouldn’t matter what she meant to him, what he thought of her, or even if he thought of her at all—Sebastian Carlisle, Duke of Trent, was never meant for her. He was meant for women like Lady Jane. But somehow, his opinion of her had come to matter. Somewhere between all the fighting and all the plotting to find each other the people they thought they wanted, she’d come to care about him. More than she ever dreamt possible. And now, for him to say that what they’d shared was a mistake—
“Liar.”
Her cutting accusation was little louder than a breath, but it tore through the compartment with the force of cannon fire. He flinched at its intensity.
“I know why you’re saying this, why you’re—” Her voice choked as a knot of emotion tightened in her throat. She forced out through her frustration, “Because you don’t want to admit that you want me. Not the orphaned niece of your tenant. Not you, not a duke…someone who’s supposed to want only fine ladies and society daughters.” When she saw his eyes flare in the shadows, she knew she was right and charged on, remembering Diana’s words at the ruins. “But you do.”
He clenched his hands into fists. “I need someone who can be my duchess,” he ground out, dodging her accusation.
“A perfect duchess who will never do anything improper, never stir up gossip nor cause any trouble? Yes, the duke in you does want that.” Her heart raced with anger and something else just as dark, just as powerful. Something that had her wanting to stir the heated anger inside him until it boiled over. “But the man wants me,” she dared to whisper.
“I don’t,” he bit out.
She shook her head, recognizing that for the lie it was. “I’m the girl from next door who will never fit the ideals of proper and well-bred, who’s common and ordinary, with her freckled nose and garish hair. But who also makes you laugh and enjoy yourself. The woman who is completely wrong for the duke, but completely right for the man.”
His eyes flickered in the shadows of the lamplight as he growled, “I do not want you.”
“Yes, you do.” Then she pushed him right over the cliff— “And you can’t stand yourself for it.”
With an angry, frustrated snarl, he grabbed her and yanked her across the compartment to him. She gave a soft cry of surprise as she landed sprawled across his lap.
He forced out through clenched teeth, his mouth only a hairsbreadth from hers, “I can’t want you, goddammit!”
“But you do,” she breathed, so softly that the sound was nearly lost in the shadows. All of her trembled. “And it isn’t a mistake.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, then his mouth came down hard and demanding against hers. Her mind swirled from the onslaught of anger and arousal burning through them both in equal measure. She opened her mouth beneath the hungry desire of his kiss and heard the low moan of need tear from her own throat.
When he plunged his tongue between her lips, she welcomed his rough assault, her tongue entwining around his and sucking him deeper into her mouth. Instead of being alarmed at his loss of control, she thrilled to it. She snaked her hand up to his nape and ran her fingers encouragingly through his silky hair as he continued to ravish her mouth in a kiss that was more hungry, more demanding and possessive than she could ever have imagined. One she wanted just as much as he did.
When she could no longer sustain the breathless kiss, she tore her mouth away to gasp for air. Her fingers tugged at his cravat and collar to bare his throat to her greedy mouth, and excitement surged through her to feel the tattoo of his pulse racing against her lips. He tasted delicious, of man and port and tobacco, and she couldn’t get enough of him to satisfy her appetite. Couldn’t torture him enough with her own kisses that fanned the angry burn inside him.
“I stir your blood,” she mumbled against his throat, thrilling to know that it was true. “You told me so.”
She licked her tongue over his Adam’s apple and drank in each panting breath he took beneath her seeking lips. Her kisses tormented him, and she gleefully relished in it. She wanted to hear him confess that she was right, that kissing her and touching her wasn’t a mistake, that he wanted her—
“I was wrong.” He growled and once more seized her mouth beneath his. This time when his mouth covered hers, instead of kissing her, he traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue in an inverted kiss that sizzled through her and left her aching for more.
Oh, a lie! But Sebastian was lying to himself as much as to her. Even now, heat sparked everywhere their bodies touched. She wasn’t like Lady Jane or those other society ladies. Not proper, not demure, certainly not passive. But he wanted her just the same, and her heart leapt with joy over it.
She rose up to meet his mouth full-on and greedily devoured his kiss, letting her inexplicable ache for him sweep her away. As he kissed her breathless once more, she clung to him and met kiss for kiss, lick for lick, each bite for tantalizing bite. He couldn’t hide the effect she had on him, and he was beginning to shake with the loss of his precious restraint. But she sensed a change in him, a reluctant capitulation rising up from deep inside him. One she knew cost him a great deal of his pride.
“I can’t have you, Miranda.” Belying his own words, he reached behind her back, and his clever fingers expertly unfastened the row of tiny hooks on her dress. “You’d be ruined, and I’d still be forced to marry someone else.”
Her breath hitched as he pulled her bodice down to her waist and revealed the short stays beneath. A shiver of nervous excitement pulsed through her as his hand traced down the front laces. The heat of his touch seeped into her flesh through the stiff material, as if it wasn’t there at all.
He brought his lips to her ear and confessed in a hot whisper, his fingers pulling the laces free from their eyelets, “But I still want you.”
Then his mouth covered her ear, and his tongue plunged deep inside in the most erotic kiss she’d ever experienced, leaving her clinging to him to keep from falling away. Yet her heart soared. She could barely believe it—Sebastian Carlisle wanted her. The man who had once been nothing more to her than the aggravating neighbor next door had become her friend, and now had come to mean so much more.
When he pushed open her stays and tugged down her low-cut chemise to bare her breasts, she was unable to hold back the low moan that poured from her. The heat of his gaze burned across her bare flesh everywhere he looked. And he looked greedily, drinking her in with his dark eyes as she draped so wantonly across his lap. He smiled wickedly when her nipples pebbled in the cool air beneath the heat of his gaze.
“We’re in a dark and private place,” he murmured. His husky voice swirled around her, heating her from the inside out. “In the shadows where no one can see or ever know.”
She shivered at the reminder of what she’d said to him the night of the opera, in that wholly scandalous, completely tantalizing conversation they’d shared in the shadows. One that had left her aching and all of her tense with longing. Then, as now, her breath grew shallow and rapid, and the tip of her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips. She whispered, “The kind of place where a woman might be tempted to tell a man what she wants?”
He slowly circled her left nipple with his fingertip, making it ache. “And a man might be tempted to give it.”
“Yes,” she sighed out. She arched her back against his touch, unable to lie still beneath the torturous tracing of his finger.
He laughed softly at her eager response, and the deep sound twined through her. Heavens, how she loved to hear him laugh! He was never more attractive than when he was happy, and her heart ached impossibly more for him.
“What do you want, Rose?” he murmured. “Tell me, and I’ll give it.”
She swallowed. Hard. She knew she should stop this, put an end to it before it got out of hand. But the temptation was simply too great, the way he made her feel too delicious.
With her heart pounding so hard she was certain he could feel it, she whispered, “Kiss me.”
“As you wish.” He leaned over and seized her nipple between his lips.
She gasped at his audacity. The sensation of his hot, moist mouth against her cooled skin jolted her, and she shuddered violently, only to gasp a second time when his tongue licked over her, swirling around the nipple the same way his fingertip had done. This wasn’t a kiss. This was so much more wicked, so much more delicious that her toes curled inside her slippers.
When he’d thoroughly laved her nipple into a hard pebble, leaving it hot and aching, the tip glistening wet in the dim lamplight, he moved to the other breast to begin the sweet torture anew.
She shifted restlessly on his lap, unable to lie still as he tongued her nipple. “Sebastian,” she protested between fierce, little pants, “what are—”
“Shh,” he whispered against her breast, his mouth not leaving her bare flesh even as he reached his hand up to caress across her upper chest, soothingly, as if calming a wild kitten. When she opened her eyes to watch him, something tugged deep inside her at the sight of his sensuous mouth at her breasts, something raw and purely feminine. Her thighs clenched against the hot ache that surged through her and stole her breath away.
Suddenly, he was through teasing. He took her breast deep into his mouth as he suckled greedily at her. So hard, so strong that his lips pulled the throbbing ache from between her thighs all the way through her like a rope, leaving her lungs panting for breath and her legs shaking as they draped open across his.
With one last tender kiss to her aroused nipple, he lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “What else do you want, sweet Rose?” he enticed, his voice hoarse.
“Touch me,” she breathed, so softly that barely any sound fell from her lips.
As his dark eyes held hers for a moment, primal pleasure flickered bright in their depths. Then he lowered his head and blew a cold stream of air across her wet nipple.
Jolted at the unexpected sensation, a cry tore from her. She bucked, but the hand that had been softly stroking her now held her down to keep her from squirming off his thighs. He blew against her other nipple, and she moaned at the sweet torture. Who knew the most tantalizing touch would be not touching her at all?
She whimpered, “Sebastian…” A dishonest attempt to halt his caresses, when the last thing she wanted was for him to stop. Instead, she somehow found enough clarity through her arousal-fogged brain to force out between panting breaths, “You aren’t…doing what…I want.”
“No. For once I’m doing what I want,” he murmured, nuzzling his soft cheek against her breast. Then his mouth moved to the other breast, to suckle at her again, just as greedily as before.
She arched her back, thrusting her breast deeper into his mouth. “You’re not…playing fair,” she panted out.
He only laughed wickedly at her protest, as if he knew exactly what her body craved from him and how to torment her in the most wickedly wonderful ways. The deep sound tickled her nipple and rumbled down her spine.
He wasn’t playing fair. She had breasts that he could easily expose, make peaked and aching, knead with his fingers and suckle with his mouth. Men. Even in intimacy they held all the advantages. It wasn’t as if she could pull off his shirt and do the same to—
A thought struck her, an utterly delicious thought. She nearly laughed in impish delight at the devilishness of it. Oh, it would torment him in kind to what he was doing to her! But fair was fair, and if he could play by this new set of rules, then so could she.
Twisting on his lap to give herself room, she wriggled her hand down between their bodies, finding the buttons on the fall of his trousers and quickly slipping them free.
He tensed, his eyes darkening with intense arousal. “What are you doing?”
“Something else,” she whispered her words from the opera. Letting herself be daring and wicked, ignoring the nervous tremble of her fingers, she slipped her hand inside his trousers before he could stop her.
He sucked in sharply through clenched teeth as his body instantly stiffened. With a throaty laugh, she boldly closed her hand around him and drew him free of his trousers, cupped against her palm beneath the folds of her skirt.
“Miranda,” he warned in a hoarse rasp, but he didn’t stop her.
She was too fascinated by his hard manhood beneath her fingers to heed any warning. So soft on the outside, so steely hard beneath, long and thick, surprisingly warm…She could have sworn she felt him pulse against her hand like a racing heartbeat, and when she traced her fingertips along his length and over his tip, she found a bead of wetness gathered at the tiny slit. She wrapped her fingers around his girth and squeezed.
He shuddered as a curse tore from his lips, and his hand darted down after hers.
Her lips parted in protest. How dare he pull her hand away when he’d submitted her to such delicious torture? That he would end this wonderful moment now—
“Like this,” he instructed. His hand folded over hers and showed her how to rub the drop of moisture into his skin to make him slippery beneath her fingertips, how to squeeze and stroke over him…Up and down his shaft, from the engorged tip all the way to the base, hard and fast. He half growled, “Dear God, yes…just like that.”
His eyes squeezed shut as he hung his head, drinking in the pleasure she gave him. There was no denying now how much he wanted her hands on him, and her chest soared with the newfound power she held over him.
He slid his hand away from hers and stroked up her body. His fingers tangled in her skirt and bunched it up around her knees, unable to raise it higher because of the way she lay across his thighs. But high enough to reveal the lace edges of her stockings, high enough that his hand easily slipped beneath to caress his fingers along the bare stretch of inner thigh. She whimpered as a wanton desire to be caressed between her legs engulfed her, to have his hand right there on the aching spot where she longed for it to be.
“I’m going to touch you now,” he warned, his own breath coming in uneven pants as she continued to pump her hand over him. “If you want me to stop—”
“Don’t stop!” The thought of his hands leaving her body was unbearable. “Please, Sebastian. I want this.” His hand brushed up between her legs, and when his bare fingers teased lightly against her folds, she whimpered at how wicked it felt to be touched there, and how unbelievably good. “Oh yes…please.”
He kissed her tenderly and groaned, “Rose.”
His fingers began to more boldly caress her, sliding deeper against her with each stroke until he slipped inside. With a gasp of surprise, she quivered around him, then all those tiny muscles clenched down tight around his fingers as he languidly stroked inside her.
Moaning with need, she closed her eyes and spread her legs as far as her skirt allowed. She was behaving so scandalously, so wickedly—
And she simply didn’t care.
His fingers felt too good as they both soothed the growing ache inside her and intimately explored her body, his lips too strong and hot-moist for logic to persuade her to stop. Her entire existence narrowed to the swirling plunges of his long fingers inside her, to the masculine scent of him that filled her senses, to the shaking of his hard, muscular thighs beneath her. She’d never imagined that surrender could feel so victorious. And judging from the soft, guttural grunts of pleasure that came from him as she continued to stroke him, neither did he.
“Sebastian,” she panted, now begging for something more, something she couldn’t name but knew he could give her. Her hips writhed over his thighs, her body silently pleading for release from the mounting ache he flamed inside her.
He twirled his thumb and touched the little nub nestled into the top of her folds. A jolt of pleasure shot through her so hard, so fast that she cried out beneath the breathtaking delight of it.
His mouth seized hers and muffled her cries, but her hand clenched hard around his erection, squeezing with a fierce stroke. She heard him groan against her lips, felt him jerk against her palm—a wet warmth spilled across her fingers.
For a moment, she couldn’t move. She could do nothing more than lie there and let the shuddering waves of pleasure lap over her. Her body was simultaneously stunned by what had happened and instantly relaxed as she draped herself across his lap, her breasts bare to the shadows and her legs spread wide. She breathed deep and slow as she found her breath, enjoying the rapid flutter of her heart in her chest and the low heat that slowly diminished between her legs.
Only then did she open her eyes and realize he was staring down at her, an unreadable expression on his handsome face. Only then did she comprehend…She lifted her hand and saw her fingers glistening in the dim lamplight.
“Oh,” she whispered, so soft the word was barely more than a breath. Then she realized what she’d done—good Lord, what they’d done together—and a hot blush flushed her cheeks. Mortified at her own brazenness, she tried to scramble off his lap. But she was still lying across his thighs, still off balance with her dress now all akimbo, and all she managed to do was catch him in the abdomen with her elbow. “Oh!”
Despite the rush of his exhaled breath, he didn’t move to set her away and instead held her shoulder to keep her still. His other hand reached up to untie his cravat, and he stared at her uncertainly as he pulled the knots free and unraveled it from around his neck. He asked gently, “Are you all right?”
All right? No, she wasn’t all right. She’d just—in a carriage! Oh Lord…She blinked back hot tears, praying he couldn’t see them in the dark shadows. “I’m fine,” she lied as he took her hand and gently wiped her fingers clean with his neck cloth.
Guilt crossed his face as he glanced away but assured her quietly, “Don’t worry. You’re still innocent.”
A tear fell down her cheek. No, she wasn’t. She was a long way from innocent in all this. That wasn’t what he meant, of course, but the riot of emotions roiling inside her made it impossible to think straight.
He turned to toss the cloth out the window. “I didn’t plan for— Christ.”
“What is it?” She scrambled to sit up and follow his gaze out the window. She gasped. “We’re on Audley Street!”
He grimaced, yanking her skirt down around her legs. “Straighten your dress. Now.”
She slid off his lap to the bench across from him, her fingers shaking so badly she could barely lace up her stays while he buttoned his trousers. Mortification poured through her. Oh God, what had they done? Her first season, her first trip to London, and she would be completely ruined if anyone saw her like this, simply because of her foolish pride and anger. And because of her growing attraction for a man she had no business desiring.
“Let me help.” He turned her in the seat to quickly fasten up her dress.
She slipped the last sleeve cap back into place as the carriage came to a stop. Seconds later, the tiger flung the door open wide.
She rushed from the carriage without waiting for Sebastian to escort her inside, moving so quickly that she nearly tripped on the front steps as she ran to the door. In her humiliated desperation to flee, she didn’t care how ungraceful she looked, nor did she dare glance back to see if he had even gotten out of the carriage to watch her leave. Because she couldn’t have borne it if he hadn’t.
Thankfully, the butler was already at the front door and holding it open, and she hurried inside, then straight through the front foyer and up the stairs. She shook so badly that she wasn’t certain how she was able to put one foot in front of the other, all of her in shocked confusion at her actions tonight. She needed to reach the safety of her room before she broke down in tears. Or in anger at herself. The confusion swirled through her so hard and fast that she didn’t know which—
“Miranda?”
Oh no. The very last person she wanted to face at that moment…She stopped at the sound of the soft voice behind her and bit back the urge to cry as she forced a smile onto her face and turned to face Sebastian’s sister.
Josephine Carlisle Matteson, Marchioness of Chesney, leaned against the doorway of her sitting room in her dressing gown, with her dark hair already brushed out and hanging loose around her shoulders. A book rested in her hand, and a smile lit her face. She looked comfortable and completely at ease after spending the evening at home with her children.
“You’ve returned early.” Puzzled, she glanced past Miranda at the stairs. “Did the others come with you?”
“They’re still at Vauxhall,” she answered, praying Josie couldn’t see the slight tilt to her coiffure or the sagging in her bodice because she hadn’t had time to lace up her stays as tightly as she should have. Or the red color of her kiss-bruised lips. Or the wrinkles in her skirt— Oh heavens, she wanted to die! “Sebastian escorted me home. I…” She forced out the lie, hating herself for lying to the woman who had always been like a sister to her, “I had a headache.”
Josie frowned at her with concern. “Are you ill?” She reached for her hand in worry. “Should I call for Dr. Brandon?”
“Please don’t.” Her chest sank like lead, because now she could add the guilt of lying to her oldest friend to the guilt of tonight’s carriage ride. She forced a smile. “I’m feeling better already.”
“Good.” Josie squeezed her hand and released it. “It’s probably just all the noise and excitement of the gardens. It can be overwhelming.”
That lesson she’d learned better than anyone. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you come in and have a cup of chocolate with me?”
Not letting her refuse, Josie linked her arm with Miranda’s and led her into her sitting room. Miranda bit back a groan of exasperation. What a cake she was! She couldn’t even flee like a coward to her room successfully.
“Higgins just brought up the tray, so it’s still warm. Chocolate always helps me to fall asleep.” Josie sat on the edge of the settee and poured two cups of hot chocolate from the porcelain pot, then held one up for Miranda. “Maybe it will help your headache.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, truly touched by Josie’s kindness. And thoroughly mortified by what she’d done tonight with her brother. She’d gotten caught up in the moment, in the way he made her feel so beautiful and wanted and in her own confused feelings for him. She’d stopped all logical thought and simply let herself be swept away.
Josie motioned toward the chair across from her. As Miranda sank down onto it, fresh tears blurred her eyes at what she’d done tonight, and she blinked them away, grateful that she could blame them on her headache, if necessary. She accepted the cup of chocolate but fidgeted nervously with it, having no taste for it.
With concern creasing her brow, Josie settled back against the cushions and asked gently, “Something happened tonight in the gardens, didn’t it? Something that caused your headache.” She paused knowingly. “Or someone.”
Miranda’s eyes snapped up to hers even as her stomach fell away through the floor. “I don’t—” She swallowed. Hard. But the knot of confused emotions stayed stuck in her throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your face is flushed, and your dress is mussed.” Josie gave a gentle, understanding smile. “We’re all alone tonight, so we can talk in private if you want to share what happened.”
Fresh guilt stabbed through her that she had to dissemble with Josie when the marchioness was being so kind to her. She should have been thrilled that Josie wanted her to confide her secrets, just as they had as girls at Chestnut Hill. But she simply couldn’t. Instead she said nothing and raised the cup to her lips to hide any traces of the confusion and remorse she felt over Sebastian.
Josie continued, “Thomas is at Strathmore House with the colonel and Kate, and Mother won’t be back until after the fireworks. They’re her favorite part of Vauxhall. So you can tell me…” Josie leaned forward, with eager expectation shining in her eyes as she asked secretively, “Was it that nice Mr. Downing?”
Miranda blinked, her mind blanking. “Mr. Downing?” Then she caught her breath. Oh, good heavens! She’d completely forgotten that Charles sent his regrets at the last minute. And how terrible was she that she hadn’t missed the man at all? “I had a headache, truly,” she insisted, still dissembling. Although, from the ache blossoming behind her eyes, it would soon prove true.
Josie’s smile curled higher with disbelief. “If you don’t deny it, I’m going to assume you got caught up in the romance of the gardens.” Her eyes shined as she sipped at her cup. “It’s been known to happen.”
Miranda looked down solemnly into her chocolate. It wasn’t romance that had caught her tonight but a stodgy, old duke. One who proved to be not so stodgy nor old after all.
Her heart sank. The worst part—oh, the very worst part!—was that she couldn’t even blame her recklessness on simple lust, because it was being with Sebastian that had made it so wonderful. Being with an intelligent, witty, thoughtful man who for a few precious moments tonight had stopped being a duke and had simply been himself.
“So it was a romantic encounter, then.” Caught up in the excitement of the secret, Josie set her chocolate aside. “And the man?” she pried without daring to name anyone, although Miranda could tell from the gleam in her eyes that she suspected Charles Downing. “Do you like him?”
“No,” Miranda denied quickly. “I mean, yes—no!” Oh, she simply couldn’t think straight! She groaned softly in frustrated confusion as she hung her head in her hand. “I don’t know.”
Josie sat forward on the edge of the settee and lowered her voice. “When you kissed him, did he make your toes curl?”
Oh, Sebastian did so much more than curl her toes! He’d set her entire body afire, in a way she was beginning to suspect no other man could have done. “Yes,” she admitted. Then, she added hesitatingly in a whisper, “I think…I might have curled his toes, too.”
Josie beamed. “Ah, so he likes you!”
“No.” Sadness flashed through her, adding to the confusion of emotions already swirling through her like a tempest. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that he did. Not the way Josie meant. Because even after all they did tonight in the carriage, even though Sebastian admitted that he wanted her, he’d also been very clear that he would never let himself have her. Not the proper duke in search of his perfect duchess. But for one impossible moment tonight, when she was coming apart in his arms, she wished he could have been just a man.
“I see,” Josie murmured gently, a world of sisterly sympathy in those two words. She pressed gently, “Does he know how you feel about him?”
“Oh no!” She would be mortified if he found out! “I could never tell him.” Especially when she wasn’t certain herself exactly what she felt. And especially when she was certain that he would look on her with pity if she did.
“But how will he know if you don’t tell him?” With her eyes sparkling at the prospect of playing matchmaker, Josie shrugged casually. “And what do you have to lose?”
“My pride.” Miranda heaved out a deep sigh.
Josie smiled gently at her. “I don’t think—” The sound of the front door opening downstairs reached them, interrupting their conversation, and her smile brightened. “Thomas is home.”
Their private moment was over, and Josie rose gracefully to her feet, to be able to welcome her husband home. The look of love that flashed across her face at hearing her husband returning to her made Miranda’s heart ache fiercely with jealousy. Would she ever know that kind of deep love and affection? The kind of love in which her husband not only loved her but completed her?
Miranda set down her cup and moved to the door, excusing herself for the night. She wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over her head and not crawl out of bed until August.
“Miranda?” Josie called out to her to give her one last piece of sisterly advice. “If you really like this man, then you need to tell him how you feel. I know that showing your heart to another can be scary, but you shouldn’t pass up this opportunity. You need to ask yourself which you’d rather have—your pride or a chance at love?”
She thought of Sebastian and bit her lip. Which indeed?