My Wicked Earl by Kathleen Ayers
26
EPILOUGE
“Colin,” Miranda giggled. “Have a care for my dress. You’ll tear the lace if you aren’t careful. I can hardly return to a ball given in our honor with my bodice torn.”
A frustrated look crossed her husband’s handsome face. “Good God, Miranda,” he kissed the side of her neck, as his hands moved possessively down her back, “I am constantly being warned about ruining your wardrobe. It’s annoying. I’ve never once so much as ripped a seam.”
Colin spun her around so that she faced the arm of the plump, overstuffed couch.
The small drawing room, barely bigger than a closet, was one that was little used at Cambourne House. A perfect spot for an assignation. Miranda could see a thin layer of dust on the side table. She’d have to inform Bevins.
Miranda could just make out the musicians tuning up after taking a break, along with the humming of dozens of voices, the sound of the ton gossiping and swirling across the floor of her brother’s ballroom like a hive of vicious bees. Thank Goodness they would leave for Runshaw Park in the morning. Once estate matters were handled, Colin was taking her on a tour of Egypt.
“Your brother threw me a dirty look as I followed you down the hall,” Colin muttered as his hand ran up the length of one silk clad leg.
Miranda trembled with anticipation as she pressed herself against the arm of the couch. “Perhaps he overheard the very wicked thing you said to me.”
“Doubtful.” Colin nipped the back of her neck and whispered against her ear “Bend over, Miranda, my lovely wanton wife.”
She complied without a second thought, wondering if she’d locked the door behind them. It really wouldn’t do for someone to find them here. “I don’t think we locked the door.”
Colin’s hands moved up to the juncture between her thighs. “It appears, my love, that you’ve become absent-minded since our marriage. You’ve forgotten your undergarments.” His fingers slipped between the folds of her sex. “Very naughty, Miranda.”
She moaned softly. “I thought you’d like the surprise.”
Her gloved hands ran over the cushions of the couch as she pushed her bottom towards Colin.
Colin leaned over and murmured roughly. “Grab the arm and spread open your legs. Christ, you’ve a lovely ass.”
There were many wonderful things about being married to Colin, the least of which was that her husband’s fertile imagination was useful not only for his writing. Colin, Miranda thought as she grabbed the arm of the couch and listened to her husband undo his trousers, was quite creative when it came to marital relations. Or possibly the word was adventurous.
“Do you think all husbands and wives are so daring? I’m asking because I do wonder about Lady Hemley and her husband. They’re newly married and. . .” The movement of Colin’s fingers was rapidly cutting off all coherent thought.
“Hemley is an idiot. I doubt he knows what to do. But I do. Good thing,” his finger slid into her as she whimpered and pushed back in response “that I had no knowledge you’d neglected your underthings else we never would have made it through the first dance.”
“It was a small oversight,” she panted. “Please, Colin.”
“You’re very wet, Miranda.”
Miranda gasped as Colin thrust into her, pushing her forward across the arm of the couch. She could already feel the climax building inside of her, painfully urgent and intense. So far in the last fortnight, they’d made love in the Cambourne gardens, in a carriage moving slowly through Hyde Park on Rotten Row, in the kitchen at their recently purchased townhouse after the servants had gone to bed and discreetly against the wall in a darkened alcove during the opera.
Colin put one hand on the back of her neck, his strokes long and even. His breathing was ragged and choppy. She could feel her body tightening around his.
“Harder, Colin,” she begged. “Please.”
The couch squeaked in protest as he moved in and out, pausing only to kiss the place beneath her left ear.
Miranda pushed back her hips and Colin’s fingers found her, stroking her until she forgot where they were, her body focused only on the mounting pleasure. The world held and shattered as Miranda cried out her release into the couch, hoping to muffle the sound.
Colin thrust twice more, and with a quiet groan, found his own release, before he collapsed to lay his head against her back.
“Jesus, you’ll be the death of me, Miranda.”
“You’ll die happy,” she replied tartly.
A quarter of an hour later, they stood outside the door of the sitting room. Colin smoothed her skirts and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “You’re all pink, a sure sign you’ve been tumbled.” He looked toward the ballroom. “I suppose we have to return,” he said regretfully, pressing his lips to hers. “Though I would rather not.”
Miranda concurred. She and Colin were much happier in the cozy library of their town house. She would curl up on the sofa to read, while he scratched away at the latest escapade of Lord Thurston.
It was the Dowager who insisted on a ball to celebrate the wedding of the Earl of Kilmaire to her granddaughter.
“Don’t be angry at Grandmother. We did cheat her out of a grand wedding. First Sutton married in scandal, and then myself.” She reached up and smoothed his cravat. “You look a bit pink yourself, Lord Kilmaire,” she gave him a saucy smile.
“Wicked little thing.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Very well. Lead me back to the den of lions.”
“I do wish Nick and his duchess could have been here.” His voice lowered else he’d be overheard as they entered the ballroom. “Though Nick assures us that Jemma is well, I know he is worried over the child. At least he has released Arabella from her banishment in Wales. I expected to see her dour, frowning face this evening.”
Miranda swatted his forearm. “She’s not dour.”
“She always appears as if she were sucking on a lemon.”
“Perhaps she didn’t welcome the news of our marriage. Nick assured me that he’d given her permission to leave Wales and come back to London.” Miranda shook her head sadly. “I hoped she’d be happy for me.”
“Wales is a long way off, my love. Quite possibly she’s run into poor weather and will surprise you at any time. I’m sure she wouldn’t miss such an event intentionally.”
“I suppose not.” Miranda wasn’t so sure. At times, Arabella could be difficult.
They wound their way back to Sutton, Alex, and the Dowager Marchioness, who was holding court over the room.
Sutton was scowling as he took in Miranda’s color, but wisely said nothing.
Overprotective, Miranda mused.
Her brother was still coming to terms with her marriage to Colin and all that preceded it, but his relationship with Colin was slowly repairing itself.
Colin went to speak to her brother, declining a passing servant’s offer of wine with a grimace.
“You were gone quite a long time.” Alex took in Miranda’s appearance.
“The ribbon on my slipper came loose and needed a stitch to repair it.”
“I didn’t realize the Earl of Kilmaire had a way with a needle.” Her sister-in-law raised a brow. “What talents he possesses.”
“It’s not the same as being read Shakespeare, I suppose,” Miranda reminded her sister-in-law of the way in which Sutton and his wife often excused themselves in the evening.
“Mmph.” Alex puffed a curl off her cheek.
“I fear Lady Dobson means to betroth her niece to Lord Carstairs,” Miranda pointed discreetly with her fan to Miss Lainscott, who smiled wanly as the dimwitted lord twirled her about. “I do hope it’s not true, for Margaret’s sake, though Carstairs does seem to be nice enough, which makes up for his lack of intelligence. And he is attractive.
“If you say so,” Alex replied. “I still do not buy Sutton’s excuse that Lord Welles was traveling only with Carstairs to look at a hunting lodge. There is something not quite right there though I cannot put my finger on it.”
“You’re overly suspicious I think. Is Lady Gwendolyn lost? She appears to be.” Miranda nodded towards a lovely ash-blonde who meandered about the edges of the room rather aimlessly, apparently searching for someone.
“I would imagine she’s looking for Rowan. Lady Marsh is hoping for a match between the two. He’s yet to arrive.” Alex tilted her head. “You did,” she lowered her voice, “hear the latest about Lady Helen?”
Miranda pressed a gloved hand to her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Lord Ridley and Lady Helen Cottingham had married in some haste not long after the ill-fated house party. Apparently, Miranda was not the only woman who welcomed a man to her chambers at Gray Covington.
“Yes. I understand she’s become quite plump while Ridley gambles away her fortune.”
“My lady.” A discreet inquiry sounded from behind Alex.
Alex and Miranda turned to find Zander, who’d been brought to Cambourne House for the express purpose of the ball, bowing to them both.
“A note has arrived from Lord Malden.” He held out a silver plate bearing the missive.
“I bet Rowan is sending his regrets, if only to escape Lady Gwendolyn for the evening.” Alex smiled and picked up the note. “How odd. Are you sure this isn’t from His Grace?
Miranda caught sight of the Dunbar coat of arms against the missive. “That’s Nick’s personal stationery.”
“Yes, my lady. I was to deliver it to Lord Cambourne, but he is not in the ballroom.”
Alex looked to the spot Sutton and Colin had been only a moment ago and shook her head. “Gone to smoke a cheroot I suppose. Very well, as I said, it’s probably Rowan apologizing for not attending tonight, though I’m not certain Nick would approve the use of his stationary. Thank you, Zander.”
The butler bowed and disappeared as silently as he’d arrived.
“I don’t blame Rowan” Miranda said behind her fan. “Lady Gwendolyn, while certainly lovely, is a bit bland.”
Alex smiled in agreement and tore open the note.
“Rowan, I think, would prefer a more intelligent woman for a wife. Don’t you agree? I’ve always thought he harbored an affection for Arabella. There is something in the way he looks at her.”
Alex remained fixated on the missive she held. “We must find Sutton and Colin.”
“Alex? What’s wrong?”
Miranda’s sister-in-law looked up at her, all gaiety gone from her face.
“Arabella has gone missing.”
“What do you mean, missing?” Miranda immediately feared the worst had happened to her dearest friend. The roads from Wales to London could be treacherous, especially in bad weather. The coach could have thrown an axle, or the horses gone lame.
“I mean she’s been taken.” Alex began to move purposefully towards the terrace where Sutton and Colin must be.
Miranda followed closely at her heels, her hands shaking with fear as she rushed to keep up with Alex. “You mean kidnapped?”
“Yes,” Alex took Miranda’s hand. “Lady Cupps-Foster was escorting her niece back to London. When the Dunbar coach stopped to change horses Arabella disappeared. She’s been taken. And Rowan has gone after her.”
