Everything Forbidden (8 page)

“Eroticism is about more than mere taking, Miranda,” he said softly, cutting off her protest when he reached into the folds of blanket and found her left leg. He pushed the coverlet aside until it was revealed and let his fingers stroke up the length lazily. “It’s about your senses.”

The only sense Miranda could concentrate on was touch as Ethan’s long, rough fingers glided over the slope of her calf and he cupped her knee.

“To fully enjoy passion, you must use
all
your senses. Sight to watch what you are doing and what is being done to you. And to uncover what you would like to try.”

He smiled as he massaged her knee and elicited a gasp from her lips.

“Taste. From the flavor of your lover’s skin to the way a grape
explodes on your tongue. Touch, to feel not just the way you’re filled by a man’s cock, but the way your fingers thread through his chest hair or the rough slide of his tongue when it mates with yours. Hearing. The way your lover says your name. The way a moan echoes in a quiet room. Even smell to savor the scent of rose petals as they stroke your skin or the scent of a man who wants you.”

Ethan fingers lingered at her knee, stroking a light pattern on her kneecap that had her shivering. She watched him touch her and his words about the senses sunk in. His tanned fingers were dark against her pale skin and the contrast was both shocking and pleasing. His thumb was rougher than his other fingers. When it brushed the inner curve of her knee, it created a cascade of tingling sensations that ricocheted through her entire body.

“First, focus on sight.”

Miranda jolted as he pulled his hand away. Now that he was no longer touching her, it was as if a lifeline had been taken. She felt a little…lost. Which was very bad.

She watched him walk over to an ornate, carved chest that sat in the corner of the room. He removed a few items from the box and returned to set them beside her on the bed. Books.

“What are these?” she asked, fingering the pages as he crossed over to the door and opened it. When he turned back, he was carrying a tray with a plate covered in food. Miranda’s stomach rumbled at the faint mingled scent of sharp cheese and light fruit. Again, she thought of Ethan’s admonishment to use all her senses to uncover the true nature of eroticism. Who knew sandwiches could be so sensual?

“Look at them.” He motioned to the books as he placed the
tray on the bed next to her. “Study them. Be aroused by them. Be shocked by them. I will even leave you to do just that for a while.”

“What?” Miranda asked, forgetting the books when Ethan leaned down to press a far-too-brief kiss against her forehead.

“I don’t want you influenced by my preferences.” He smiled, wicked. “At least, not yet. I shall return in a while.”

Before she could argue, Ethan left the room and shut the door behind him. Miranda stared at the barrier now between them as she heard the second door shut in the distance. She had come to be seduced and debauched and he left her with food and books and her own hand! It put her on her head and left her reeling.

Damnable man!

With a sigh of frustration, she propped herself up on the pillows, popped a grape between her lips and sinfully savored the explosion of flavors on her tongue as Ethan had instructed, then she opened the first book. What she saw nearly made her upset the tray.

It was an erotic story, complete with detailed sketches to illustrate what she was reading! Miranda flipped through the other books, only to find them to be similar tomes.

Ethan had left her with books to arouse her and make her even more frustrated and achy for his touch. Miranda scowled. Here she was trying to keep some control over the situation, but he didn’t do the things she expected.

Still…she looked at the food and then the book in her hand.

What was the harm in just looking? Perhaps she would learn more skills to use in her arsenal.

Ethan stood in the darkened outer room that led back to the bedroom where Miranda waited for him. He stared at the door, hand outstretched, but didn’t enter. Not just yet.

It had been two hours since he gave her a pile of his extensive collection of erotic works and left her to explore on her own. Oh, he’d given her some long explanation about awakening her senses and learning her hidden desires, and that
was
part of why he had done it. But there was another part. A troubling part. A part he’d been trying to forget ever since.

Something about this woman erased his control.

That had been his only constant for years. Control. The only thing separating him from being casually debauched and the total animal his father had been. Ethan knew he couldn’t avoid his predilection for sin and sex, those desires were in his blood. His father had reminded him of that fact regularly.

But Ethan knew just as well that if he allowed it, those desires could consume him. Change him. Make him unable to choose and steal whatever thin veil of respectability he continued to cling to.

Who would have guessed his desires would overwhelm him in the package of a slender, poor, country miss?

It was ridiculous.

He shoved the door open with a bit more violence than he had originally intended and stepped inside. Immediately, he came to a halt.

Miranda lay on the bed, but she wasn’t reading. She wasn’t waiting to tempt him with innocent passions. She was curled up, sound asleep.

The velvet coverlet was still around her, though it had slipped down to reveal one small breast. Her long, lithe leg was crooked on the outside of the cocoon she had created for herself.

She made a delightfully erotic picture, lying there like that. Like something out of a legend, where a god found an innocent waiting for him and took her.

That’s what Ethan should have done. Awakened her with deep, lush kisses starting from her parted lips and leading down, down to a much sweeter place.

But he didn’t. Slipping up beside her, he picked up one of the books he’d left for her. It was open to the spot where she’d been reading before she fell asleep. A part in the story where a man was taking his willing partner right out in the open, daring to be caught, exposed.

He shook his head. That was one of his favorite fantasies. One he had acted out more than once in various public areas on this very estate. Perhaps he would do the same with Miranda. Later.

Hesitantly, Ethan reached for her. With the back of his hand, he brushed a lock of blonde hair away from her face. She smiled in her sleep at the touch.

So damned innocent. So sweet. Those things had never appealed to him, yet he was moved by them now. An ache started deep down inside of him, one he hadn’t felt since he was a boy, watching his mother sob into a bottle of wine. He had wanted to help her then and he couldn’t.

He wanted to hold Miranda now and he shouldn’t.

Instead, he backed away. And left her to her sleep and whatever dreams she was having.

“Miranda, what in heaven’s name is wrong with you?”

Miranda jumped at her mother’s sharp question. Shaking off her musings, she looked across the breakfast table with something she hoped resembled a smile.

“I’m sorry, Mama. Just woolgathering.”

“You have been doing that very thing for three days,” Dorthea grumbled as she slathered butter across her toast.

Miranda shrugged halfheartedly and that seemed to appease her mother, as she turned her attention to Beatrice and Winifred, who were sitting on the opposite side of her. Miranda sighed.

Yes, she
had
been doing “that very thing” for three days. Since her first full day at Ethan’s home.

She shivered slightly at the thought. How could she have fallen asleep in that den of sensuality he had created? Yes, she had been exhausted since her father died and she had taken up the
task of juggling her family’s troubles. And that bed had been so luxurious and comfortable. Lounging about in the middle of the day, indulging in decadent food and wicked reading…it had made her forget her troubles. Allowed her to relax.

But what a ninny Ethan must think she was. That had to be why he hadn’t come back and claimed her.

Oh, he had been kind enough the next morning. He’d kissed her cheek before she left and whispered that eroticism was often also about waiting and wanting.

Well, she’d been
waiting
and
wanting
ever since! And wondering if Ethan was even interested in her any longer. Had he already bored of her?

Why wouldn’t he? She certainly wasn’t sophisticated like his former lovers had been. She might have seen some of the wicked things he liked, but she had no skill at them. Perhaps he hadn’t been as aroused by her little show of undressing as she thought. Or he already regretted the bargain they made after she failed his expectations so completely.

As their mother chattered in the background, Penelope reached over to place a hand on Miranda’s knee beneath the table. She jumped at the touch and her sister’s eyes widened at the way her body jolted.

“Dearest, you do seem very distant since you returned from Lady Ingleworth’s,” her sister whispered, casting a quick glance at their mother to make sure she wasn’t eavesdropping. “Did the old dragon give you trouble?”

Miranda flinched. Lying to her mother was difficult enough, but doing so to Penelope was torture. Being only two years apart and having a similar disposition, they were friends as much as
sisters. And now Miranda was keeping so many secrets from Penelope that she could scarce keep them all straight in her mind.

“No, I apologize if I’ve been distant.” She squeezed her sister’s fingers for reassurance. “My visit was…educational, if nothing else.”

“Educational?” Penelope repeated, wrinkling her brow. “Whatever do you mean?”

Before Miranda had to explain herself, their butler entered the morning room. He stopped in the doorway with a small bow and announced, “A letter for Mrs. Albright, from the Earl of Rothschild.”

The table fell into silence for a moment as all five women stared at the servant. The others seemed surprised, but Miranda’s heart leapt into her throat. Why was Ethan writing to her mother, who he had made clear he felt nothing but disdain toward on more than one occasion?

Dear God, was he going to expose Miranda for a wanton?

Nausea churned as she watched her mother stagger to her feet and reach out her hand.

“The Earl of Rothschild? To me? Give it here, Adams!”

The butler sighed almost imperceptively and allowed the letter to be snatched from his fingertips before he exited the room. Miranda’s mother threw herself back into her chair and stared at the letter, addressed in Ethan’s large, even scrawl. Lazy handwriting with lazy elegance. But an underlying strength.

Miranda rolled her eyes. Dear God, she
was
obsessed with the man if she was reading his personality into his handwriting, of all things.

“Why in the world would
he
be writing us?” her mother mut
tered as she flipped the letter over and broke the seal. “Wicked, wicked man.”

Penelope laughed. “A
wicked
,
wicked
man whose parties you and father attended every single summer.”

Their mother shot a pointed glare in Penelope’s direction. “Your sister is a bad influence on you, for she said exactly the same thing to me! And as I told her, I don’t have to like the man to benefit from his position in society.”

Miranda shut her eyes and stifled a sigh. Her mother had always been such a social climber, trying to find any opportunity to elevate their family’s position. Though she didn’t want Dorthea to uncover the truth, Miranda almost wondered what her mother’s reaction would be if she knew the bargain that had been entered into on her sisters’ behalves.

Would her mother even care that she’d sold herself if it meant a chance at a good marriage for Penelope or Beatrice or Winifred?

Then again, perhaps she didn’t want to know.

“Oh!” her mother gasped as she read the letter.

Miranda’s heart sank as she tried to decipher her mother’s shocked expression.

“Oh, girls! Listen to this!” Her mother got to her feet and began to pace around the room, reading out loud. “‘My dear lady, it has recently come to my attention that I owed your late husband a kindness I was unable to repay before his recent passing. Therefore, I feel it is only right to make reparations to his remaining family. I would like to offer you my assistance, both financially and socially, in providing a Season to your second eldest daughter, Miss Penelope. If this would be agreeable to you,
please send word to me here at my estate. Yours, Rothschild.’”

Miranda let the air out of her lungs in a burst as relief shot through her body. He hadn’t revealed their arrangement. Thank God.

The relief was followed close behind by confusion. Why had Ethan already offered to sponsor Penelope?

She was jolted from her musings when the room erupted in feminine squeals and chatter. Her mother let out a whoop more befitting a schoolboy than a lady and her two youngest sisters began talking at once, prattling on about gowns and balls and whether they, too, would find sponsors.

“There now, Miranda,” her mother said with a triumphant glare in her direction. “You may cease your constant haranguing about our financial position. The
dear
Lord Rothschild will take care of us.”

“A moment ago you were condemning him as wicked,” Miranda said mildly as she set her napkin aside and pushed away from the table. She paced to the large set of streaked windows that looked down over the gardens.

“I said no such thing!” her mother snapped. “And even if he is, what do we care? His money and connections will surely give your sister better luck in her Season than you experienced in yours.”

Miranda clenched her fists and kept her gaze focused firmly outside. Her mother’s hypocrisy was difficult to stomach, but she was in no position to cast stones.

Penelope cocked her head. “But I don’t understand this, Mother.”

“He is offering to sponsor you, ninny!” her mother laughed. “What more could there possibly be to understand?”

“But why?” her sister pressed, reaching for the letter that still dangled from their mother’s fingers. “He says he owed Father a ‘kindness’. Does that mean he was in our family’s debt? If so, why doesn’t he just give us financial reparation? Hosting a Season seems like an almost limitless expense, not to mention a social imposition.” She turned to Miranda expectantly. “Did you find such a debt owed to Papa when you went through the records?”

Miranda turned slowly to stare at her sister. She could almost feel the lies beginning to bubble on her lips and they were bitter, indeed.

But before she had to speak them, their mother interrupted by snatching the letter away. “Who gives two figs about the circumstances? You shall have a wonderful Season, Penelope! That is all that matters, so don’t argue the point.”

Penelope didn’t seem moved by that statement. “I simply wonder at the cost. Lord Rothschild has never been close to our family and he is certainly not known as giving.”

Miranda stepped forward, driven to defend Ethan against her sister’s condemnation. Especially considering how “giving” he had been to her in their last two encounters, always thinking of her pleasure before his own. And not even taking his the last time.

“Yes, he is!”

The room fell silent for a second time, but it was Miranda who everyone was staring at this time. Even her mother, who was mostly studying Ethan’s letter with a focused smile, wrinkled her forehead in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Penelope asked, her hands
coming to her hips. “You have only met the man a few times, yourself. And you know his reputation!”

Miranda shifted, silently berating herself for her outburst. She had no need to defend Ethan and the action only foolishly brought attention to her.

“I-I only mean that he must be generous in some fashion or he wouldn’t have made such an offer.” She shrugged and kept her gaze away from Penelope’s. Her sister could read her too well. “I agree with Mother. Perhaps it’s best not to argue or explain away this unexpected gift, Penelope. We must accept it and try to make the most of this Season he wants to give you.”

Penelope stared at her like she had sprouted a second head. “You
agree
with Mother?” she repeated blankly.

Beatrice chuckled. “This is a first.”

Even Winifred looked incredulous.

“It’s the first sensible thing she’s said in months,” her mother sniffed. “I must begin making arrangements. There will be new gowns to order, we must find a flat in London for the Season. Oh, it shall be beyond wonderful!”

“Mother!” Miranda threw her hands in the air. They’d had the promise of money for all of two minutes and already her mother had spent it all and then some. “We do not even know how much he intends to—”

Their mother waved her protests off and made for the door. “Come along Penelope, Winifred, Beatrice.”

Her younger sisters followed immediately, but Penelope stayed where she was, continuing to stare at Miranda with an incredulous expression. Miranda fought to keep her own countenance
free of any emotion. The last thing she wanted was for Penelope to ferret out the truth. No doubt her sheltered sister would be shocked if she knew the lengths Miranda had gone to.

“I’ll be along in a moment, Mama,” Penelope said softly. “I wish to talk to Miranda first.”

“There is so much to do. Don’t be long!” their mother ordered before she swept from the room and left the two older sisters alone.

Penelope tilted her head. “Did you know of this before Mama received Rothschild’s missive?”

Miranda’s eyes went wide. “Of course not, why would you believe that?”

“Your reaction, Miranda! You
agree
with Mother, who dashes headlong into all circumstances without thought for the consequences? Surely you cannot think Rothschild will host this Season without expecting
something
in return.” Penelope shivered. “Remember what Mr. Stephanson wanted.”

Miranda winced. He was the man who had asked for their youngest sister, Winifred, in order to repay the debt their father owed him. Even their mother had not been ready to stoop so low.

“Lord Rothschild is not anything like that…that…” She bit back a slew of curses. “That
person
. If the Earl says that he owed father something, why not allow him to repay it in this fashion? It will solve so many of our concerns.”

Her sister shook her head and worry was bright in her eyes. Miranda sighed. Penelope was only thinking of the family’s good with her protests and Miranda could hardly blame her. In any other situation, she would have been asking the very same questions.

If only she could explain, but that wasn’t possible. Her sister would be horrified if Miranda admitted the truth.

She took her sister’s hand instead. “This is what I want you to do, Pen.”

Penelope smiled at the childhood nickname. “What, Mir?”

“Take this Season you’re being offered. Enjoy every last moment of it. Dance. Laugh. Maybe even fall in love, if you can—though if you can fall in love with a rich man, it would be better.”

Penelope laughed.

Miranda’s smile fell a little. “Whatever you do, don’t worry yourself about Lord Rothschild or anything else. Let
me
take care of him.”

Her sister sighed. “Just be wary of the price he wants us to pay for his ‘kindness’. It may turn out to be too high, Miranda.”

With that, her sister pressed a brief kiss to her cheek and slipped from the room, leaving Miranda to rub her hands across her temples. In just a few days, she would be back at Ethan’s home, paying the price Penelope had mused about.

That was, if Ethan even still wanted her. If he didn’t, that might be the highest price of all.

Ethan paced his chamber, hating how his gaze slipped to the clock on his mantel. Time seemed to inch forward, tormenting him with every tick of the seconds.

It was Friday.

Normally, the days of the week were meaningless to Ethan, especially in the country. But now, in short order, Friday had taken on a different meaning to him. It meant Miranda.

Never before had he been so obsessed with a woman. Especially one who he had only been with once in over two weeks. Normally, he would have been with his mistress a dozen or more times already. In fact, he would already be bored and restless, driven to more and more outrageous sex to slake his desires and hold his interest.

But Miranda…Miranda was different. She had been on his mind every moment, every hour since she left just a week ago. He found himself wondering what she was doing or who she was with. What she was wearing and if she was thinking of him.

Those wandering thoughts often came up at the most inopportune moments. While doing some business with his estate manager, for example. Or during a visit with an old friend who had passed through the shire a few days earlier and commented on Ethan’s shocking lack of companionship. Even an offer to visit a local courtesan had held no appeal to him. Not when compared to Miranda.