Marissa Day (13 page)

“Oh, yes, Miranda.” Corwin closed his eyes and his fingers thrust deep, showing so plainly what he wished to do. She ran her fingers up and down his shaft, delighting in the heated velvet of the skin there. “Yes.”

He withdrew his fingers and with both hands roughly pushed her skirts up around her thighs. Miranda lifted herself onto her knees and with both hands guided him to her entrance. His hands gripped her ass and she felt him shudder, sensed he was restraining himself from slamming her down against him so he could bury himself to the hilt inside her. A sense of power surged into the pleasure and she lowered herself a bare inch, just enough so her folds enclosed the head of his cock.

“Oh, Miranda.”

“‘Oh, Miranda’ what?” She reached behind herself and pulled his hands away, holding them out to the sides. She had no idea what made her so wicked and bold. She had no idea if such things were even done. But she wanted to do this. She wanted to see the way it made him drop his head back as she snuggled him inside her, just a little bit more.

“Oh, Miranda,
please
.” It was a game; they both knew it. He could break her hold in a second if he wanted to, but the sound of him begging her sent another rush of heat through her. She was strong, daring, free. She could do whatever she wanted to this beautiful, powerful man and he would only beg her for more.

“Please what?” she settled herself further. It was maddening to have him half-in, half-out like this, and yet she forced her knees to hold still.

“Please, take me deep,” he groaned. “Please, take me all the way inside your gorgeous, hot pussy.”

“As sir commands.”

Miranda let her knees buckle and pressed down until he was fully seated inside her. She gasped and called his name and he wrapped both hands around her hips. She leaned forward, meaning to kiss him, but he lifted himself up and instead rubbed his face against her breasts.

“Wicked woman,” he whispered, kissing her breasts, lapping at her nipples through the fabric of her gown while his hands stroked her thighs. “Ride me, Miranda. Ride my cock.”

She began at once to move, rocking her hips back and forth. The sensations were maddening. But it was evidently not enough for Corwin. He shoved his hands back under her skirts and gripped the halves of her ass, lifted her up, and slammed her down.

“Ah!” she gasped as he filled her utterly. “Ah!”

He lifted her again, and again. It felt so good. She wanted it, wanted more, wanted faster. She raised herself, and fell on him, impaling herself on him over and again, aware of nothing except the honeyed delirium of his hands, his cock.

“Ride it hard!” he commanded.

“Yes!” She bucked against him, her body beyond her control, seeking only the pleasure of him, wanting him entirely inside her, wanting to hear him cry out, to command, to beg. His hands were on her ass, her hips, her breasts. His tongue was everywhere too, laving her breasts, lapping her throat and thrusting inside her mouth as his cock thrust into her pussy.

“Corwin!” she screamed against his mouth as she came undone. He gripped her hips ruthlessly, forcing her against him even as her climax rocked her so hard she could not see. There was nothing in the whole of the world save the ocean tide of ecstasy rolling her under, and then she felt him beneath her, thrusting up, wild uncontrolled, lost, completely undone by the pleasure of her body.

Viola Thayer waited while the footman announced her, then breezed into Daphne Quicke’s sitting room. Mrs. Quicke stood as Viola entered, looking cool and collected, but Viola felt the excitement simmering just beneath the woman’s skin. Daphne was at home, alone, on a fine afternoon in a sitting room that sported last year’s colors. Viola also could not help but note the distinct absence of invitation cards on the mantel. Even with the season just about finished, there should have been one or two for the coming summer exodus.

“Lady Thayer.” Mrs. Quicke made her curtsy. “How delightful! Won’t you sit down? Halloway, send in Mellon with another cup.”

“I am so glad I caught you at home, Mrs. Quicke.” Viola smiled and settled on the chair offered, adjusting her skirts minutely. “What a charming room! So sunny, and such delightful colors.”

“Why, thank you.” Mrs. Quicke accepted the compliment without batting an eye. “And may I say what a wonderful time Miranda and I had at your party. Such charming society! I declare I feel ten years younger for it!”

The girl arrived with the fresh cup and saucer, and there was a pause in the mutual flattery while Mrs. Quicke ascertained how Viola took her tea—with lemon—and offered sandwiches—cucumber—and biscuits—declined. Viola watched Mrs. Quicke surreptitiously while she fixed the plate and cup. Daphne was aging as gracefully as a woman could, but the signs were there. Her hair was too bright from the dye. The skin around her throat was beginning to sag and the creases at the corners of her eyes were deepening and spreading. But it was the veins on the backs of Daphne Quicke’s hands that truly gave her age away. No young woman had such hands. And it was not only the room that was wearing last year’s colors. Mrs. Quicke’s light blue afternoon gown had been made over at least once.

“Thank you.” Viola accepted the cup and sandwich. “I am a little surprised to find you alone,” she remarked. “Where is Miranda this afternoon?” She sipped her tea and had to acknowledge that it was very good. Daphne Quicke clearly was a mistress of the art of keeping up appearances.

“She has gone walking with that charming Mr. Rathe. You won’t mind my saying, Lady Thayer”—Daphne Quicke dropped her voice into a confidential tone—“I had all but given up hope for Miranda. It pains a mother’s heart to say it.” Here Mrs. Quicke laid a dramatic hand on her bosom. “But it is true. Now, though, I should be very much surprised if there was not something ... beginning.”

“As should I, Mrs. Quicke.” Viola nodded, grateful her opportunity had come so soon. “That was why I particularly wished to have a word with you.” She set the cup down and assumed a serious mien. “I wanted to put you on your guard.”

“On my guard? Why, Lady Thayer, whatever do you mean?” It was a breathless protestation, but Lady Thayer saw the caution behind it.
You already suspect something, don’t you? Perhaps that your little Miranda is not quite the innocent she was? If you only knew ...

Lady Thayer laid her hand on Mrs. Quicke’s “I am afraid, my dear Daphne ...” She paused. “I may call you Daphne, mayn’t I?”

“Of course, of course.”

“And you must call me Viola.” Viola watched her flattering familiarity do its work before she scooted just a little closer. “I’m afraid, Daphne, that Mr. Rathe is not quite what he represents himself to be.”

“No?” Daphne’s eyes widened. A casual observer would have seen nothing but shock. The disappointment was entirely in the set of her sloping shoulders, and the dimming of the light in her expression.

Lady Thayer shook her head slowly and solemnly. “No. He is, in fact, not a gentleman.”

“Oh, Viola, you had me most concerned.” This time the hand pressed to Daphne’s bosom was far less artful. She really was having difficulty catching her breath. “He told us about his background when he called this morning.”

“Did he?” Lady Thayer frowned.

“Yes. And I can certainly understand the considerations for someone like yourself, but for Miranda I think a man of active profession, even a civil servant, will do very well. Indeed at her age, we simply cannot afford to be too particular.”

Very neat, Mr. Rathe. Very nice
, Lady Thayer thought toward her absent opponent.
But I am not prepared to let you have Miranda Prosper quite so easily.

“So you would look with favor on such a match?” Viola rested her fingers against her lips. “Oh, dear.”

“I’m sorry, Viola; have I said something wrong?”

“I certainly do not want to interfere, Daphne,” Lady Thayer said primly. “Especially not with a mother’s very proper concern for her daughter’s welfare, but ...” Viola paused just long enough to make sure she had Daphne’s full attention. She needn’t have worried. The woman was hanging on her every word. “You might not want to be too hasty in this matter.”

Mrs. Quicke’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Daphne’s mask slipped enough to allow Viola to see the mercenary calculations running through her mind. “Is there something I should know?”

“Yes. And that was the other matter I had hoped to mention. You know I will be having my house party next week, at Hallowgate?”

“Always quite the event of the summer,” said Daphne. It was a polite nothing. They both knew she had never been to one of Lady Thayer’s country parties. Viola suppressed a smile. It would be fun to draw this out, to play with this silly, shallow woman and see how many hoops she would jump through to get what she wanted. But, alas, there was no time for such a game. Later, perhaps. Mrs. Quicke was certainly ripe for all kinds of sport.

“I was hoping this year, if you’re not otherwise engaged, you and Miranda might do me the favor of attending.”

Greed, pure and simple, smoldered in Daphne Quicke’s eyes. “Why, thank you, Viola. We do not have any other engagements for the week, so that would be delightful.”

Time to move in for the kill. “Oh, I am glad. I have a most particular reason for asking.” She favored Daphne with another confidential little smile. “A nephew of mine, the Honorable Robin Summerfields, will be there. Have you met him?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor.”

“He has been at Oxford and has had very little time in London. A most serious scholar. But he was in town briefly last Christmas, and he saw your Miranda at Lady Featherstone’s birthday party.”

“Did he?” For the first time, Daphne Quicke evidenced genuine surprise.

“And he was most favorably impressed. So impressed, in fact, that he has been asking if you are going to be at my little get-together, and he practically begged to be introduced to her.”

“To Miranda?” Mrs. Quicke did not bother to disguise her shock.

Lady Thayer nodded. “To Miranda.”

“Well.” Mrs. Quicke sat back, clearly trying to reshape her established outlook to fit this new intelligence. “That is most excellent news. I’m sure Miranda and I both will enjoy meeting your nephew very much.”

“And Mr. Rathe?”

Daphne glanced out the window, past the garden toward the street, no doubt more concerned than previously about exactly where her daughter had gotten herself off to. “Well, as they have only just met, there has been no time for any real attachment to grow between them. Indeed, just between us, Viola, it may improve your nephew’s impression of Miranda if there is another man paying his addresses. You know how nothing elevates a girl’s charm like a rival in the background.”

Lady Thayer let herself appear to consider this. “I had not looked at it quite that way, Daphne. You really are very clever.” She stood and smiled. “Until next week, then?”

“Until next week, Viola.”

Lady Thayer left, feeling quite satisfied with her afternoon’s work.

“Well.” Darius leaned against the oak tree and folded his arms. “Here we all are, then.”

This was the first time Miranda had seen Darius since he’d left her bedchamber. She had imagined his presence would be less intense in the daylight, and more like Corwin’s. But she had been wrong. Nothing had eased at all about him. His blue eyes raked her from top to bottom where she sat next to Corwin, even though her appearance was completely proper. Corwin’s magic had removed the grass stains from their clothing and she even had her bonnet on her head with its ribbons neatly tied. After Corwin and Miranda had ... recovered from their lovemaking, Corwin told her about his appointment to meet Darius in an isolated section of the park near one of the groundskeeper’s sheds. Miranda readily agreed to accompany him. Now they sat on a wooden bench beside the shed, holding hands, but nothing more than that. But Miranda felt certain Darius knew she had been making love with Corwin. A blush rose in her cheeks, but Miranda couldn’t tell what contributed most strongly to it—that Darius knew what she had been doing, or that she very much wanted him to know. If he knew, he might become aroused at the thought, and if he became aroused ...