Dangerous Secrets (88 page)

‶
Find Simon,″ she
whispered.
‶
Go
to him. You are his last hope. My last hope. I do not want to lose my son, but
I have no power to sway him, only to hurt him. Perhaps you will believe me now
that you have seen for yourself.″

Nodding, Miranda wondered where he might have
gone.

As if she read her mind, the dowager said
softly,
‶
He
will ride. Perhaps he will fish at the pond. It is what he did when he was
troubled as a boy.″

‶
He is a man now,″ Miranda
reminded her.

‶
Yes. He is a man. And I fear
that I have been wrong in believing I knew him. I knew the boy, but perhaps I
do not know the man.″ She gazed at Miranda, her eyes awash with tears.
‶
I
can but tell you to try the pond, for perhaps he is acting with the wounded
nature of the boy he used to be, before he learned the truth.″

Miranda did not even excuse herself before
fleeing the garden for the stables.

***

She tied Celestina several hundred yards away
from the pond and picked a path through the high grass until she heard the
sounds of rhythmic splashing. Had the dowager been right? Was Simon fishing
with such fury that the water splashed?

Within moments she could see him swimming,
pumping his arms furiously in the air as he raced toward the edge of the pond
where she stood. She watched for a moment, knowing that he was coping with the
battle within him, worried that he would kill himself from the exertion.

Water cascaded from his body and yet still the
silence grew loud as he stood up in the waist-deep water and shook himself. His
gaze met hers and she burned from the anger in his eyes.

‶
Go away, Miranda. I am not in
the mood for company.″

‶
You will kill yourself with all
this exertion. Come and ride with me.″

His laughter was bitter.
‶
I
would like nothing better. But it is far safer for both of us if I stay in the
water and you ride home alone.″

Miranda blushed, understanding the hidden
meaning in her words now that she had been privy to the talk of the married
women this weekend. In the heat of his passionate anger he was too easily
roused. It was amazing the difference in the conversation between the married
women and the conversations she remembered from her partial Season as an
unmarried virgin. Some of the women seemed to relish inciting their
husband′s anger just to get them into their beds.

The idea appealed to her. He could expend his
frantic energy upon her, and she could offer him the comfort a wife offered a
husband.

Certainly the risk was worth it, if only for
the fact that he would begin swimming again were she to leave. No wonder he did
not want to find a cure for himself. He thought himself a bastard, unworthy of
his title and position. And yet he had been created to be duke with more
forethought than most children could claim. Three people had chosen to create
him, although two had apparently been destroyed in the process.

I will not let him be destroyed as were his
mother and father, she vowed to herself. I will show him that I am proud to
call him my husband.
‶
I would prefer swimming. Surely that is a more satisfying
exertion than riding?″

Slowly, she began unfastening her bodice. She
had unhooked it completely before he closed his gaping mouth and said sternly,
‶
Go
home, Miranda.″ His gaze, however, was trained upon the skin that she was
slowly revealing.

She stood nude for only a moment upon the bank
before modestly plunging into the water and wading toward him. The pond was
surprisingly cold and the moment after she began regretting her impulse, she
began worrying that the cold water could not be good for him.

‶
If you insist upon exerting
yourself, then do so by making me your wife in truth. At least then I can put
my arms around you and hold you as I wish to. I can offer comfort — and I will
not be too wild, Simon. I promise you have nothing to worry about from
me.″

Absurdly, as she approached him, he backed
toward the opposite bank. She stopped two feet away from him.
‶
Simon,
I know we have been worried about your health, but this time, even if I am not
perfectly calm, I can do you no more harm than this frantic swimming of
yours.″

Miranda′s attention was pulled away for a
second, and she started quickly when something bumped her hip. She looked down
to see a silver fish nibbling at her, apparently in the mistaken opinion that
she was dinner. She cupped her hands to capture the fish and with a gentle
push, released it in the opposite direction.

‶
I thought you would be fishing.
That, at least would be a peaceful sport.″

‶
My health is my concern,
Miranda. I have told you that before.″

She stepped closer to him, and this time he
didn′t move away. Frustratingly, he did not seem any closer to taking her
in his arms, either — though his gaze slipped from hers to rove lower more and
more often.

‶
Simon, I know the idea of the
duke deceiving your mother as he did is intolerable to an honest man like you,
but you must not let such worries affect your health.″

‶
My health is the last thing you
should be concerned with.″ The anger in his eyes was so fierce she
actually trembled at the sight of it. Or from the chill of the water. She could
not be certain.

‶
These things happened in the
past. They do not have to affect the present.″

‶
Miranda, you do not understand
—″

She opened her arms and stepped toward him.

‶
Let me hold you, soothe you. I
am your wife ...″ Another fish bumped at her hip and she reached for it.
‶
Oh!″

Her fingers tightened on the
‶
fish,″
and it pulsed heatedly in her hand. Shocked she stared into Simon′s face.
His eyes were closed and he was holding perfectly still.

‶
Miranda, please release me at
once,″ he said, his jaw barely moving.

She began to loosen her grip instantly, and
then changed her mind, tightening again.
‶
Not until you agree to let me
be your wife in all ways, Simon.″

He said nothing at all, moved not a muscle.
Curious, Miranda looked down into the murky water, but she could not see what
her fingers encircled.

With her thumb, she explored the rounded tip of
him, to find a Valley at the very center that made her feel a dizzying rush of
warmth throughout her limbs. For a moment, she thought she might faint, she
felt so very strange.

Simon did not allow himself to move when her
fingers curled over him. He could not.
‶
Release me.″

She looked down into the water. And then she
swayed toward him, her fingers tightening with delicious results. He crushed
her to him with a groan, and she had to grab his shoulders for balance.

He buried his face in her neck and she released
him at last. But it was too late. Far too late.
‶
Miranda you have no idea what
you′re asking of me. This is impossible.″

‶
You′re wrong, Simon.″
She smiled as she rubbed her silken belly against him, pressing closer.

He groaned again and tightened his arms around
her.
‶
Miranda,
Miranda, Miranda ... ″ His control broke as he stared down into her eyes.
There was a triumph in her eyes that she had affected him. And no sign that she
thought him one whit less desirable now that she knew the truth.

The flash of triumph fled however, when he bent
to claim her mouth. He knew his passion was too much for her. It was too much
for him. But he could not stop.

He had wanted her five years ago, he had wanted
her that night in the hunter′s cottage, and he wanted her still.

She pushed against his chest with her hands as
if to slow his sensual assault, but he did not release her mouth, and in a
moment he felt her relax against him once again. He lifted her easily, and
carried her to the bank.

He touched her breasts, her throat, her belly;
he parted her thighs with his knee and rubbed himself against her. He knew he
was moving too quickly and tried to slow himself. But when she brought her hips
up to meet his, he was consumed with the need to be one with her.

He did not pause, knowing and yet not able to
know, that he would regret this haste as he pushed into her, entering her,
stopping only for the briefest of times before he groaned into her mouth,
deepened his kiss, and pushed past the flimsy barrier that was no barrier at
all against his need.

It was only once he was deep inside her, when
she lay stiff and still under him that he remembered that he should have been
cautious. He took his mouth from hers and buried his head in her neck, as still
as he had been when she first touched him, thinking he was a fish. He laughed
raggedly against the dampness of her skin. Certainly she would never make that
mistake again.

She bucked her hips under him.
‶
Simon,
you′re hurting me. Stop.″

He wanted to. He tried to. But the urge to make
her his was a burning need that overrode everything. His arms tightened around
her as he began to shake in a silent battle with his body′s need to
stroke into her until he made her forget the pain and cry out with the wonder
of joining.

‶
Simon!″ She tightened her
arms around him then and tried to roll him beneath her.

‶
Stay still, Miranda,″ he
gritted out between his teeth.
‶
Stay very still, and I think I may manage to remove
myself before I —″ He did not finish his sentence, but rolled away from
her and lay still for another moment. She reached out to touch his hip and he
jerked away from her as he began to shake.
‶
Don′t touch me Miranda.
For God′s sake — and my own — don′t touch me.″

She leaned over him, ever eager to ignore what
he told her.

He looked into her beautiful eyes and wished
with all his heart that he could forget his burdens for a moment longer. He had
hurt her. Worst of all, if he had not hurt her, he would never have had the
strength to pull out of her before he achieved his own release. And then
he′d be worrying about babies.
‶
That should never have
happened.″

‶
Why not?″ He could see
she was hurt. But she was trying to make sense of things, as always.
‶
You
seem to have survived it, Simon.″ She smiled.
‶
And I am your wife
in truth, now, am I not?″

He knew, suddenly, the words that would send
her away from him for good.
‶
Of course I survived it. I am perfectly capable of
making love to you. I am not really dying Miranda. I lied to you.″

‶
You are not dying?″ He
could see her confusion, but terribly, there was joy there. He needed to
puncture the hope that might even now be burgeoning in her fairytale heart.

‶
No. But the bastard Duke of Kerstone
is.″

‶
What riddle is this,
Simon?″ she asked impatiently.

‶
No riddle. Just the truth,
Miranda. The truth I dared not give you before.″ He paused, to make sure
that she was heeding him closely.
‶
In little over three months,
the bastard Duke of Kerstone will die. The dukedom and all its responsibilities
will be handed over to Arthur, the rightful heir.″

She stared at him with incomprehension and
suddenly he knew a way to convince her. He rummaged through the clothing piled
upon the bank and pulled out the leather pouch she had eyed so curiously for so
long. Without a word, he tossed it to her.

She held it as she stared at him. And then she
opened it and, hands trembling, began to read the first of two folded pages.
When she was done with the two pages, she hefted the envelope marked For the
eyes of the Duke of Kerstone only and looked up.
‶
This is sealed, should I open
it?″

‶
It will be opened by Arthur
when he inherits. Until then, I will keep it safe with me, to remind me of what
I am — and am not.″

She quietly put the two pages and the sealed
envelope back into the leather pouch and fastened it closed before she handed
it to him.

He wondered if she had truly taken all the
implications in when she asked merely,
‶
Where will you go?″

‶
To America. To a city called
Charleston. I have acquired a modest property there.″

She watched him, saying nothing, but he could
see the narrowing of her eyes as she pondered his answer. And then her breath
caught and her eyes locked with his.
‶
Oh.″ Her eyes filled with
tears.
‶
And
you were going to leave me behind.″

He did not want to see her pain, her growing
distrust. For a moment he wished that she would refuse to believe it of him.
But then, why would she not believe it of him? Had he not married her,
tantalized her with kisses and caresses, yet refused to make love with her? He
said grudgingly,
‶
You would have been an honorable widow.″

‶
I would have been a virgin
widow.″ She colored brightly, the flush descending to the tops of her
breasts, and he wanted to laugh, to groan, to listen to his mother and let
everyone believe he deserved to be the Duke of Kerstone.

But he did not.
‶
I didn′t mean to make
love to you. I should never have touched you.″ He had the blood of a
cowardly Watterly in him. A man who would bed his own father′s wife. That
alone tainted him beyond redemption.