CHAPTER 14
His mouth was hot and hungry on hers, and his hand burned her skin as it grazed the top of her breast. The neckline of the gown impeded his progress. He curled his fingers around it and jerked down, and the flimsy material gave beneath him with a rending sound. He cupped her breast, exposed by the tear, and a soft groan escaped his lips. He changed the slant of his mouth on hers, burying his lips deeper into hers, his tongue taking her mouth. With a gentleness at odds with the fierce way his lips consumed her, he caressed her breast with his fingers, kneading and stroking, finding the bud of her nipple and teasing it with his fingertips until it hardened.
“Miranda…” He breathed her name as his lips left hers and began to trail across her cheek to her earlobe. “Let me…please, I can show you how good it could be.” He took the lobe between his teeth and worried it, sending darts of heat shooting through her.
His mouth moved downward, and everywhere he touched her skin it was like fire. Miranda trembled, sagging against the support of his arm, hard as iron around her back. “Dev…”
Hearing his nickname in her mouth sent a tremor of desire through him. There was an intimacy there, a liking, that he had never believed Miranda felt for him. He untied the sash of her dressing gown and opened it, sliding his hands in underneath it, pulling her up into him. She was soft against him, her nipples hard points of desire. He ran his hands over her back and hips, digging this fingertips into her buttocks and pressing her up against his engorged staff.
Fire licked along their veins, radiating heat through them. Miranda moved her hips against him, aware only of a deep, primitive need to do so. His breath came out in a shudder, and he nipped gently at the juncture of her neck and shoulders, teasing with the sharpness, then laving it with his tongue.
He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up and turning to carry her back to his desk. Instinctively, Miranda clamped her legs around him. He set her down on the desk, sweeping off the other contents onto the floor and bearing her back down on it. His body was deliciously hard and heavy on hers, the imprint of his passion burning into her abdomen. He curved his hands around her breasts, his thumbs caressing her nipples. He looked down at her face for a moment, taking in the way her eyes darkened with passion and her face turned soft and sweet as his hands caressed her.
Dev bent and kissed the nipple of one breast, then curled his tongue around it in a lazy, teasing circle. She arched up against him, moaning, and it shook his control almost to the breaking point. He paused for a moment, fighting back the rush of lust.
Looking straight into her eyes, he said, “Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this enough for you?”
At this moment, it was, Miranda knew, but she managed to pull the scraps of her self-control together enough to answer, “Is it enough for you?”
He stiffened, his eyes still boring holes in her. “What?”
“Are you saying you want to be my husband in reality?”
“Yes.”
“Both of us entirely faithful to each other?”
He almost said yes, but he thought of Leona, and his face changed subtly. Miranda let out her breath in a sigh.
“Ah. I see. I would be faithful. You would not.”
She sat up, and he stepped back, not stopping her, although he ached to shove her back to the desk and take her right there. Miranda pulled the sides of her dressing gown around her and belted the sash tightly.
“I think we shall stay with our present arrangement,” she said and walked from the room, taking care not to give in and run.
* * *
The following morning Uncle Rupert came down to breakfast earlier than normal for him and announced that it was time he gave Miranda the tour he had promised.
“You have been here over a week, and you’ve scarcely seen anything of the estate, just the village and a few farms around the house. I thought we would ride along the river,” he said. “Beautiful spot, don’t you think, Dev? After our stultifying evening yesterday, we deserve a treat.”
“That sounds splendid,” Miranda said. She would rather have stayed and worked on some of the multitude of tasks she had to do, but she felt that she ought to make a special effort with Devin’s uncle, whose feelings, she suspected, had been a little hurt by his being removed from management of the estate.
“What do you say, Joseph?” he went on, turning to Mr. Upshaw. “And you, Dev? And, of course, anyone else who would care to come…”
Michael and Elizabeth, who were also there, shook their heads, but Joseph was eager to go, and Devin was almost as quick to agree.
“I’ll tell Cook to fix us up a light luncheon basket,” Rupert went on. “We can rest at Chasenford. It’s pretty there.”
They arranged to meet at a little before eleven, at which time they set out from the stable yard for the river with the quaint name of Dove. Much of what Miranda had seen of the area consisted of magnificent vistas of moors or rolling hills, grand and green and almost barren of trees. She was unprepared for the sight of the river when they wound their way down to it, meandering in a shallow, lazy fashion at the base of high white limestone cliffs. The cliffs rose up in a sheer expanse, scarred here and there with holes that Dev explained were the entrances to caves that wandered through the porous rock. The narrow river was lined with grassy banks, dotted with large chunks of limestone rock. Slender, graceful ash and alder trees grew along its edge, casting shadows across the dark-green water. It was a lovely, peaceful place, undisturbed except for their presence.
The banks were narrow, and they broke up into pairs to ride alongside it. Dev moved forward to chat with his uncle, and Joseph rode beside Miranda, enthusiastically pointing out all the beauties they saw. They gradually fell somewhat behind the other two.
Miranda was watching Devin, not really paying much attention to what her father was saying. Joseph turned to look up at the limestone cliff towering above them, and suddenly his expression turned to one of horror.
“Watch out!” he screamed, spurring his horse forward and reaching out to slap the flank of Miranda’s horse.
Miranda turned in surprise even as the horse leapt forward. An instant later, so close she felt the breeze of it falling, a large chunk of limestone crashed onto the ground behind her. The noise sent her mount into a panic, and the mare took off running, unseating Miranda and sending her falling flat on her back, knocking the wind out of her.
She lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, struggling to breathe, trying to assimilate what had just happened. There were shouts from in front of them, then the sound of horses running. A moment later Devin was looming above her.
He dropped down onto his knees beside her, his face creased with fear. “Miranda! My God, what happened? Are you all right?” He swept her up into his arms, holding her against his chest. She could feel the trembling of his body.
Finally, blessedly, her lungs relaxed and air came rushing back in. She nodded a little uncertainly, whispering, “I think so.”
“That rock almost killed you. If you had been a second slower…“
“Papa…?”
“He’s fine. Just getting his horse under control. Uncle Rupert’s gone after your mare.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back. “Bloody hell! You could have been killed.”
“Miranda!” She turned her head to see her father trotting along the bank toward them, leading his horse. “Are you all right? Sweet Jesus in heaven, when I looked up and saw that rock tumbling off…” He, too, went down on his knees, not quite so agilely, beside her.
“You saved my life.”
Devin’s arms tightened around her, and she felt his lips press against her hair. Miranda was shaking from the experience, and she clung to Devin.
Uncle Rupert rode up, leading Miranda’s mare, and dismounted quickly, coming over to join the group. “Is she all right?” His gaze went from her to the large rock now sitting on the flat bank behind them, split in two from the force of its fall.
“Good Lord! Is that what almost hit you? It’s a wonder you weren’t killed! That’s the thing with limestone—it breaks off and falls. But usually it’s after a lot of rain. I never would have thought—I beg your pardon. I am deeply sorry. I never should have brought you this way.”
“There is no way you could have known,” Joseph said, rising creakily. “Thank God Elizabeth wasn’t with us. She would be hysterical by now.”
“I think I am close to it,” Miranda said, trying a smile.
Devin made a rude noise. “You wouldn’t know hysteria if you met it. My heart’s about to pound right out of my chest, and you’re cool as a cucumber.”
“Well, I’m alive. Let’s see if I can stand up.”
Devin rose, setting her on her feet, his arm still around her to steady her. It felt sweet to be there, Miranda thought, and she stayed a bit longer than was absolutely necessary before she stepped away and shook out her riding habit.
“We’ll turn right around and go back to the house,” Uncle Rupert said, starting to mount.
“Not on my account,” Miranda protested. “I’m fine, really. The worst that happened to me is that I was thrown, and that’s happened before. There are no broken bones. I lost my breath for a moment, but that’s back. There is no reason to cut short our expedition for a little accident.”
“A little accident!” Uncle Rupert exclaimed, staring at her goggle-eyed.
“I told you, Uncle, she is not like other women,” Devin said, laughter in his voice. “You know, Miranda, there is no need for you to go on. It isn’t important.”
“No reason to go back, either,” Miranda pointed out. “We have our lunch—unless the groom’s horse stampeded, too.”
“No, he’s here,” Rupert said faintly. “The food, as well.”
“Well, I’d like to finish the tour. I think it is highly unlikely that another rock will drop on us, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“Good.” Miranda dusted off her skirt. “Then let’s go on.”
So they continued to the bend in the river, a green, idyllic setting, and sat down to their lunch. Uncle Rupert and her father launched into a discussion of the properties of limestone, one of which apparently was its breakability. Miranda barely listened, content to sit and nibble at her food and let her nerves settle. It helped that Devin was beside her.
“And to think I found London dangerous…” she said lightly.
Devin turned and looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, two accidents since I moved here. I can’t remember when I have ever been so accident prone.”
“I see.” He nodded, studying her face. “Why do you think that is?”
Miranda shrugged. “I’m not sure. The first time, I have to admit, I was careless. I leaned on a wooden railing even though I knew that much of the wood in the house had been eaten away by woodworm. That was a silly, impulsive mistake. But today—I truly cannot imagine how I could have avoided a falling rock. Should I have been paying more attention?”
“Thank God your father saw it in time. I don’t know how you could have avoided it, except to keep a careful watch. Limestone slides off the face of the cliffs and falls periodically. It is always good policy not to stand too close to the edge of them, I think.”
“I don’t believe in signs or portents or living under a bad star or whatever you want to call it…but it does seem odd.”
“Well, safest to be extra careful,” he said, with an easy smile. “Just in case there is some sort of malevolent cloud hanging over us. Make sure you watch before you step. Darkwater is old and crumbling in many ways, and before it is restored, there are probably ample opportunities for accidents. You need to be careful. And if you go riding with Veronica or by yourself, make sure I am with you, or your father or Uncle Rupert. Or a groom, if there’s no one else.”
She looked at him oddly. “You sound very serious.”
“I am serious. You could have been killed today. Promise me that you will take extra care.”
Warmth stole through Miranda at the thought that he was concerned about her. “All right,” she agreed, smiling. “I promise I will watch out.”
* * *
By the time Miranda went to bed that night, her nerves had been restored. She had been a little afraid that she would have trouble falling asleep or would suffer bad dreams as a result of the accident, but in fact she fell asleep rather quickly and slept quite peacefully until the middle of the night.
Then she came awake suddenly in the dark, her eyes flying open, her heart racing. She did not know what had awakened her, and she lay for a moment, listening, looking around. Then the shout came, and she knew that something like that must have awakened her.
It came from beyond the connecting door into Dev’s room, a man’s hoarse shout. “No!”
Miranda hopped out of bed, impelled by the note of urgency and horror in the voice. She ran across the room, not even pausing to put on dressing gown or slippers, and opened the connecting door.
Dev’s room was dark, but there was enough moonlight coming in around the curtains for her to make out his form in the large bed. Devin was moving restlessly, his sheets tangled about him. Miranda hurried to his side. He was asleep, but obviously in the grip of a nightmare. He groaned, his face contorted and sweating, and his hand shot out suddenly, making her jump.
She took his hand in both her own, saying, “Devin. Devin, wake up!”
His eyes flew open, and for an instant he stared at her sightlessly, his chest rising and falling in labored breaths.
“Devin, it’s me, Miranda. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
His eyes changed, became focused. He looked at her, and a long shudder ran through his body. “Miranda? What are you…?”
He sat up dazedly, leaning back against the massive headboard. Miranda sat down on the bed beside him, keeping his hand in hers. “You were having a nightmare. It woke me.”
“Oh.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I see. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” She smiled. “All of us have nightmares from time to time. Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Yes. I—I’m just a little disoriented.”
“What were you dreaming about?”
Devin shrugged. “I have it periodically. It’s—” He ran his hand back through his hair and sighed. “I was dreaming about a girl I killed.”
Miranda stared, stunned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, not literally. I did not take a knife and stab her through the heart, but I might as well have. She killed herself because of me.”
“Oh my.” She remembered the old man who had ranted at her in her house in London and the sad tale he had told. Obviously he was not the only one who was haunted by the incident. “What happened?”
“I seduced her,” Devin said, his voice filled with self-loathing. “I was in Brighton—avoiding my creditors, I believe. And I met Constance. I thought she was an experienced woman. She was a friend of Leona’s, older than most of the other girls. I assumed—well, I never realized she was a maiden. She was pretty, and I wanted her. Leona was keeping me dancing on a string at the time—teasing and baiting and not giving in.”
He paused and looked at her a little guiltily. “I apologize. Hardly the sort of thing I should be saying to you.”
“Why not? I am your wife.”
“Not fit conversation for a lady.”
“Ah, but you forget that I am not really a lady. Please, go on. I want to hear about it.”
He nodded and started again, his gaze shifting away from her. “I was frustrated, and she was there and attractive. And I wanted her. I gave up on Leona. I thought that I would never have her. Oh, hell, my motives were even lower—I hoped, deep down, that if I chose another it would make Leona notice me, make her realize that she was missing her chance. So I paid court to Constance. I charmed her. I thought—I thought she understood the game, that she had done it before. Until she lay with me. Then, of course, I realized what a mistake I had made. I should have stopped then, but I did not.” His mouth twisted grimly. “It was far easier to take my pleasure. Then Leona came to me. My scheme had worked, I suppose. She wanted me, and I stopped seeing Constance. Another evidence of my weakness. An honorable man would have asked her to marry him, having taken the virginity of a virtuous girl. But I did not. All I could think or see or feel was Leona.”
Miranda’s heart twisted at the recital of his passion for Leona, but she pushed the feeling aside. Devin’s pain was more important right now.
“Then one morning Leona brought me a letter. She had been to call on Constance and found her gone. She had left me a letter.” He paused, drawing a shaky breath, and his eyes came up to meet Miranda’s, laced with agony. “She said that she was carrying my child, that she could not bear to live with the shame. She wrote that she was going to throw herself into the ocean and spare both herself and the baby the shame of its being born out of wedlock.”
“Oh, no!” Miranda’s hand tightened around his. “How awful.”
He nodded, his face drawn. “I went running over there like a fool, but of course she was gone, just as Leona had said. They searched for her, but they could never find the body, only the spot on the rocks where she had discarded her shawl and shoes. Her grandfather was devastated. He nearly went mad with grief. He blamed me, of course. Everyone did. Leona was the only one who stood by me. I don’t know what I would have done without her. That was the scandal over which my father finally broke with me. He had forgiven many sins of mine before, he said, but he could not forgive that—that I had seduced an innocent girl and driven her to her death.”
“How could he have blamed you alone?” Miranda asked, bringing his hand up to her chest and cradling it against her. “You were not the only person involved. Constance was responsible for what happened, as well.”
“Why did she not come to me?” The words were torn out of him, soaked with the pain of years. “I would not have turned her away. I did not love her, but I would have done my duty if I had known she was pregnant. I would have married her. I swear I would have.”
“Of course you would have,” Miranda agreed staunchly. “Your father could not have known you very well, or he would have known that.”
“He was only one of many who believed it,” Devin said flatly. “The things I had done, the manner of man I was…everyone found it easy to believe I would have played the cad. Obviously Constance never thought for a moment that I would have done the honorable thing.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in an attempt at a smile. “Now you know what sort of man you married.”
“I already knew what sort of man I married,” Miranda replied. “This does not change my opinion. You have made mistakes—who among us has not? But you are not wicked.”
“I don’t know how you can even bear to look at me. Sometimes I cannot bear to look at myself.”
Impulsively Miranda leaned forward and took Devin in her arms, resting her head against his and holding him close. “There is no need to keep grinding yourself into the ground about this. What you did was wrong, no doubt, but you were not alone in it. You did not force her. Constance was a grown woman, older than most of the girls, you said. She knew what she was doing and what could happen. She also could have told you. She did not even give you the chance to make it right. She should have come to you. She owed that to her child, if nothing else. There was her grandfather, too. She could have gone to him for help. Instead she chose to kill herself and her child. That is not the action of a fully sane woman. You cannot blame yourself because she was unbalanced. You do not deserve the entire burden of guilt.”
Devin wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her hair. “You are an unusual woman, Miranda. Few would be so forgiving.”
“What do I have to forgive you for?” Miranda pointed out reasonably. “It did not concern me. It is between you and God, and I think that you have punished yourself for it more than enough over the years.”
They sat like that for a long time, holding each other, and Miranda could feel his taut body relax as the pain drained out of him. Gradually she realized the intimacy of their position, pressed tightly against each other, sitting in his bed. She wore only a nightgown, a flimsy barrier between his bare chest and her own skin. The warmth between them began to change and become more heated, and suddenly what had been only comfort and sympathy was now charged with sexuality.
Miranda released Devin and scooted back awkwardly. She looked at him and saw reflected in his face the same awareness of their position. Her cheeks flamed. She had scarcely noticed before how little Devin wore. Above the sheet his chest was bare. Miranda was unaccustomed to seeing a man’s naked chest, and her eyes could not help running over his tanned skin, padded with muscle. She had to curl her fingers into her palm to resist the urge to reach out and touch the bony outcropping of his shoulders and collarbone, the rounded muscle of his upper arms.
She cleared her throat. “Well, ah…I should get back to bed now.”
“Miranda…” He reached for her, laying his hand on her arm. He rubbed his thumb over her skin, searching for words. With a sigh, he released her and shook his head. “Never mind. Thank you. It was good of you to come help me.”
“You’re welcome. Good night.”
Miranda slipped off the bed and walked across the room and through the connecting door to her room. But when she closed the door behind her, she did not lock it.