The Fairy Tale Bride (14 page)

He handed her into the carriage. The vehicle
swayed as he followed her inside. To Miranda's surprise, he
intended to ride inside with her. Could he be in pain? He seemed
healthy enough. Indeed, his presence filled the carriage.

As the cheerful well-wishing of the wedding
guests faded into the distance, and the sharp pain of watching her
family's faces grow into indistinguishable dots of color dulled,
she found herself nervous to have him so near. The intimacy again
reminded her of their sojourn in the hunter's cottage — the very
reason they were now here as husband and wife.

Wife. She felt a liquid settling in her
middle as the word struck her, with all its attendant
responsibilities. Not the least of which was the getting of an
heir. She owed him that, after all, if he was not to live long. She
hoped she would not fail him in such an important task.

"Why are you staring so?" Simon asked her.
But there was a smile upon his lips that suggested he knew very
well in which direction her thoughts had wandered.

Miranda flushed. "I was wondering if you were
feeling well."

His lips tightened in annoyance and then
relaxed into a smile as he edged closer toward her. "I am fine.
"

Miranda, knowing that she was a coward,
whispered, "I feel so tired, I think I shall nap." She closed her
eyes upon his amused expression and, to her surprise, found herself
waking up hours later.

Her waking position was in Simon's arms and
she hastily righted herself, but he did not allow her to edge to
the other side of the seat as she would have liked. "Are you still
feeling well?" she asked as the carriage jounced over a
particularly bumpy portion of the roadway.

"I did not marry you to acquire a nurse." He
took her into his arms and his lips began plying small, disturbing
kisses against the skin of her neck.

Miranda sat captive, able only to offer token
protest. "A wife must worry after her husband's health .... "

"Does that mean satisfying his every need?"
His breath was warm on her ear as he spoke.

Miranda tried to keep her mind on the
conversation, to stop the strength from sapping from her limbs.
"Now that I am your wife, Simon, I must see to your, comfort, your
hunger — " She grasped the straw of hope that came to her. "Are you
hungry? Should we stop for the basket of delicacies that Cook
prepared?"

He laughed low in his throat, and she could
feel the vibration to her toes. "We agreed not to stop, except for
fresh horses, but to press on so that we could reach home tonight.
But I am hungry, wife." His arms seemed to tighten around her
infinitesimally.

"Should I unpack the basket here, then?"
Miranda pulled away to reach for the wicker container stored under
the seat.

Simon pulled her back into his arms. His
hands were gentle and warm on her hips as he settled her in his
lap. She looked up into his eyes and recognized the passion glowing
there. Her own senses ignited.

Feeling as if she was so warm she must burn
him wherever she touched, she smiled and held herself still. Was it
seemly to remember so vividly what had happened once, by mistake?
To want it to happen again? She fought the urge to lean forward and
press her lips to his. "If you are hungry, Simon, I must feed
you."

Her heart beat harder when he leaned toward
her to whisper, "Then kiss me, Miranda, for I am hungry for your
touch." His mouth took hers with gentle persuasion, and Miranda
found herself more than willing to return the kiss. He did not seem
to find her too hot to the touch, no matter how she burned inside,
because his hand quickly moved upward from her hip, past her waist,
toward her breast, and then slipped into her low bodice.

His other hand left her shoulder and she felt
his fingers brushing through her hair, making a tingling, melting
sensation flow from her scalp downward. He said softly, "Rapunzel,
Rapunzel, will you let down your hair for me?"

Dimly understanding that he was asking far
more of her than his words suggested, still she could not speak.
Her answer was to lift her own oddly heavy arms and begin removing
the pins. In a moment, her hair was heavy upon her shoulders and
Simon's fingers combed through it freely, every stroke of his
fingers vibrating, magnifying inside her.

"What are you doing to me?" She gasped, at
last frightened by the intensity of her pleasure. "I cannot
breathe. I cannot move."

Simon pulled back for a moment. "Am I
crushing you?"

Miranda shook her head, feeling completely
unable to express what she was feeling. "No. I just ... the
pleasure ... "

His eyes widened as he understood her
dilemma, and the smile of male pride mingled with desire might have
irritated her if she did not long for his lips upon hers so
desperately. "I had thought to suggest cards as a way to spend our
traveling time, but if this pastime pleases you more, so be
it."

Without quite knowing how, Miranda found
herself shifted in such a way that she reclined halfway against the
seat, Simon half on his knees, half lightly but firmly atop her.
His breathing was harder, but his hands were still gentle. She
quickly realized the advantage of their new position as she felt
the' shocking heat of one of his hands against her bare thigh, even
as the other cupped her neck and his lips brought more heat to
hers.

As she daringly tried to imitate his kiss,
and darted her tongue between his lips, he groaned softly into her
mouth. The hand that cupped her nape slid lower, to her waist and
his arm tightened, pressing her closer to him. There was no way she
would not burst into flame, but he did not seem to know the danger
he was in, and Miranda wondered, as she looked into his glowing
eyes, if he felt the same.

A stabbing pain in her side cleared the
heated fog of pleasure from her mind in an instant, and Miranda
gasped and tried to pull away. Simon's arm tightened, and he
murmured a protest.

She stilled instantly, afraid that his arms
would increase the pain in her side.

Unaware of the reason for her stillness, he
buried his mouth in her neck. "Miranda, you are more than I dared
to dream," he whispered, claiming her mouth with his so that she
could not explain her plight. She gasped in pain and began to
writhe as her broken stay jabbed more deeply into her. Her knees
drew up and locked around Simon as she attempted to keep him from
tightening his embrace any further.

He broke the kiss for a moment to whisper
urgently, "Miranda, my love, we should not hurry this moment. ... "
Before she could gather the breath to speak, his mouth was again on
hers, gentler now. But still his restraining hands caused the stay
to dig deeper and the pain was so unbearable she could not suppress
a moan.

Simon answered her moan with a low groan of
his own and pulled away to whisper, "You are so beautiful."

"My gown must come off." She gasped, but got
no further before his mouth came down more passionately upon
hers.

Deciding that she would be better served to
struggle with her gown rather than with Simon, Miranda began
tearing at the buttons. Miraculously, he began to help, tearing at
her clothing until she was afraid the gown would be shredded. In no
time, with the both of them working frantically, the laces of the
stays were undone.

Suddenly with a sharp cry, she found herself
free of the painful broken stay. Simon pulled back from her
abruptly. "What is the matter? Have I hurt you?"

Miranda shook her head. "My stay was broken
and we have just now disengaged it." She glanced down to see the
expanse of herself exposed to his sight and blushed. ''I'm sorry to
have behaved in such an unseemly manner."

His expression swept from a puzzled frown to
a short laugh. "My God. I thought I had transported you to frenzied
passion, and you were merely trying to escape a broken stay. Come,
show me the injury."

He examined the abrasion with a worried
frown.

"It will heal, but I suspect you'll have a
bruise in the morning."

The feel of his hands brought back some of
the pleasure Miranda had felt before the pain of her broken stay.
She was disappointed when he lifted them away and stared at her
accusingly. "I shall have the stay maker shot. These cannot be more
than a week old at most."

"Oh, no, that pair was my mother's before it
was mine. I should have replaced it years ago." He stared at her
uncomprehendingly, his breathing still rough and ragged. "I'm sorry
Simon, I thought it would hold until we reached your home. I had it
taped .... "

"I thought I told you to have whatever
clothing you needed supplied by the milliners I sent from
London."

"My sisters needed new stays more than I,"
she confessed. "I thought to do without for a while longer."

He frowned. "No more taped stays for you."
His eyes swept her nude form and then, shockingly, he bent to press
his lips where the stay had scraped her skin. His lips were warm.
Her heart began a double beat, and every sound and feeling seemed
magnified. "Simon — "

"I want you." His lips covered the distance
from her bruised side to her breast and he gently took the
sensitive tip into his mouth. Impossibly, once again she found
herself dizzy from the heat that rushed through her.

She gasped. "I want you, too." Her surprise
at her own boldness was quickly lost in the feel of his strong I
muscled shoulders, as she allowed her hands to roam his body as his
roamed hers.

And then the coach rolled to a stop. They had
barely enough time to shield Miranda from the coachman's eyes
before the door was flung open. "Welcome home, Your Grace."

CHAPTER NINE

The chill evening air that had swirled in
with the opening of the carriage door brought a gasp from Miranda
and a sharp return to reality to Simon. Briskly, he sat up and
began rearranging his clothing. Fortunately, his servants were
well-trained, and the door had shut almost as quickly as it
opened.

He could hear Miranda frantically attempting
to arrange her own clothing, and he had no heart to tell her how
fruitless her attempts were. In the darkness, the clothing that had
been so easily discarded would be impossible to right. He
distinctly remembered feeling tiny buttons pelt his cheek when her
bodice had finally given way.

A frantic elbow jabbed him in the ribs and a
knee connected painfully with his hip before he relented. "Miranda,
I'm afraid the task is hopeless."

She stilled, and the rustling of clothing
ceased so that he could hear the sob that caught in her breath. "It
cannot be. I will not be seen like this by your ... our staff. What
will they think of me."

As if on cue, there was a timid knock on the
carriage door. "Your Grace? Would you care to dismount — "

There was an awkward pause, which Simon used
to offer a thankful prayer that Miranda had no understanding of
William's careless double entendre.

William's strained voice began again. " I
mean, Your Grace, would you and your bride care for any
assistance?"

Before he knew what she would do, Miranda
said imperiously, "Please hand in your lantern, my good man — and
give me a few minutes. The pins have fallen out of my hair from the
jouncing of the journey." She opened the door only enough to
receive the lantern. The light, however, served to reveal the
disaster he had expected.

"Oh, my God, Simon. What have we wrought?" In
the bright glow of the lantern, Simon could clearly see that the
fever that had engulfed both of them had left Miranda. She stared
at him with embarrassment and confusion, her hair down around her
bared shoulders, her arms clutching the remains of her bodice to
cover her breasts.

Surprisingly, he felt his desire flood
through him again. If she did not look so much like a lost child,
he would have ordered William to give them a half hour of privacy.
It took great strength for him to remember that she was his bride
and deserved a proper wedding night in a proper bed.

"What shall we do?" Miranda gave up trying to
repair the disaster of her new traveling gown and stared at him in
complete dismay. "I cannot be seen like this!"

"On the contrary, my dear. I believe I very
much enjoy seeing you this way."

Miranda's gaze flicked with obvious annoyance
over his own clothing. "Your attire looks no more rumpled than one
might expect from such a journey. But I look as though ..." She
blushed.

Reminding himself that Miranda was now his
duchess and suffering from the indignity of having been discovered
in
dishabille
by a servant in her new home, he put aside his
own feelings for the moment. The night was young. And he was
certain he could return them both to their abandoned state as soon
as he closed the bedroom door behind them.

Swiftly, he covered her with his cloak and
lifted her into his arms. She protested, embarrassed, but he swept
aside her objections. "It is the bridegroom's prerogative, Miranda,
to carry his sleeping bride into his home so that she might rest in
comfort on her wedding night."

"Sleeping ... " Her eyes searched his for a
moment, as if for the first time she was realizing that what had
passed between them in the carriage was not an isolated event. To
his delight, a small smile curved her lips as she obediently
snuggled her head on his shoulder and feigned sleep. For the first
time since he had thrown caution to the winds and decided to spend
his last few months in England with Miranda, he was unreservedly
happy with his decision.

Mrs. Hoskins, the housekeeper, had lined the
servants in two neat rows to welcome his new duchess. Simon looked
at her apologetically. "Tomorrow will suffice for introductions,
Mrs. Hoskins," he said softly, feeling the rapid beat of Miranda's
heart. "Her Grace is worn out from the ride."