The Earl and His Virgin Countess(28)

“Let’s keep that between us, shall we?”

Taking in the beauty of his bride, he let his joy show. It was considered bad ton to wear one's heart on his sleeve, but Andrew had never particularly cared what was considered socially acceptable or not. He wanted the room to accept the contract meant nothing, but his heart wanted, needed, to have the woman beside him for the rest of his life.

“I will.”

As they walked in the open air, he handed Miranda a bag of coins to distribute to the children who had come out to witness their lord wed. She would be a good countess to them, making sure the families who worked his land were taken care of. She had proven such that very week when she’d brought baskets of food to two families in need, one a widow whose husband had died, and the other had welcomed a new mouth to feed.

Once back at the estate, with the guests fed, cake cut, and rounds made, Miranda leaned in to whisper in Andrew’s ear, “How much longer must we stay?”

Concern filling him, he touched the back of his hand to her forehead. “Why? Are you feeling all right?”

“I am ready to become your lawful wife in every way God intended. I do not wish to wait any longer.”

Andrew couldn’t breathe. A month of frustration and vivid, erotic dreams blended with hours of awake fantasies had made it impossible to get any work done. He’d been useless at Parliament, and, if not for his steward, his lands would be in worse shape than his nerves. Yet, his vixen of a wife stood before him, batting her eyes like a harlot in the body of a virgin goddess.



The shock on Andrew’s face forced Miranda to bite her lip to prevent a chuckle. The poor man had been torturing both of them without good reason. She wanted him to have his moment of chivalry, but only frustration could describe the feeling he caused. She wanted him to touch her, kiss more than her lips. She wanted his hands on her body, on her over-sensitive skin.

Once he pulled himself together, he asked, “What the hell kind of virgin are you?”

“The kind that is sick to death of being a virgin. So, do you intend to take care of this issue or not?”

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her behind him. “Ever your servant.” He approached his butler, who stood in the corner of the ballroom. The reddish tinge on the normally stoic man’s face revealed he knew exactly what his master had planned. With a bow, he wished them a good evening.

“Evening?” Miranda arched an eyebrow at her new husband.

“Oh, more likely a few days.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Stopping, he lifted her into his arms and took her into the private chambers of the earl and countess, a section of the house she had yet to visit.

Addressing the footman, he said, “No one is to disturb us. No one. Any food may be left by the door to the lord’s suite, and I will get it.”

“Yes, milord.”

Once inside the chamber, Andrew placed her on her feet, then began to work at the tie around his neck while leading her to a large room in the back covered in gold trim and ornate carvings. He was out of his overcoat, vest, and shirt before she had taken in half the room.

“You can explore the room to your heart’s content later. Allow me to play ladies maid and help you out of your gown.”

“It’s amazing.”

“The gown or the room?”

“Both, but I meant the room.”

His fingers were like whispers against the bare skin exposed on her back. “How do I get these things undone?”

“The lacings are inside at the bottom.”

“It’s beautiful but it needs to come off,” he said, easing the dress from her. Grasping her shoulders, he pivoted her to face him, then gulped. “Good God in heaven.”

The modiste had created her chemise and petticoat of the sheerest silk material, and the corset, which usually covered at least the bottom half of her breasts, lay beneath, leaving a clear view of her nipples under the chemise. And it had been her decision to go without pantaloons.

Recovering from his shock, he reached for her. His lips were hungry for hers, his fingers working her nipples into hard, aching nubs. She wanted more. And the friction of the fabric against her skin only made the ache grow.

She moaned and rested her hands on his bare arms. “Get this corset off me.”

“Can you breathe with it on?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then it stays, you minx. I want to make love to you in this.”

“But we have to be naked. All the books show people naked.”

Drawing back, he searched her face. “What books?”

“The books Aunt Sarah lent me.”

Breathing hard, he raised his eyes toward the ceiling and cupped her breasts with his hands. “You are very dangerous.”