Page 37 of My Wicked Earl
“I believe it is you who seek to pull me into darkened corners, Miranda.” Colin whispered against her ear. “Though, I don’t mind in the least.”
Her pulse caught as his breath tickled the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. A whimper escaped her lips.
It was constant torture to sit across the table when Colin came to dine, pretending that they were no more than old family friends. She would sit and allow Mother to discuss how she hoped for a match between Miranda and Lord St. Remy. She would nod her head and agree that St. Remy, or whomever Mother found suitable, was quite wonderful, all the while knowing that the only man she wanted sat across the table, his dark eyes lit with hunger as he watched her.
Since that day, nearly a month ago, when Colin surprised her in the gardens, they had found every moment to be together. It was amazing how many dull, boring lectures the Royal Academy presented—lectures only Colin would escort her to. Then Colin would take her for a lemon ice and debate the merits of the lecture. Or discuss the building of the pyramids. Miranda found herself saving up little tidbits of the trials of being in her First Season if only to make him laugh.
A warm finger teased her skin, slipping down the deep valley between her breasts.
Her nipples pebbled, the sensitive tips pushing up against the constraints of her bodice. Every touch between them became more intimate, more heated. Sometimes at night she couldn’t sleep for thinking of the sensations Colin aroused.
“This curl will be the death of me.” He wrapped a bit of her hair about his seeking finger. “It always tempts me to come closer.”
“Then come closer,” she breathed.
Tugging the curl, Colin pulled Miranda close and nibbled against the line of her neck and jaw. His breath warmed her skin and set her pulse racing. “Such a tempting invitation.”
Honey slid down her stomach to pool at the apex of her thighs as his mouth blazed a trail against her skin. Instinctively, her hips pushed against him. Her hands ran down his chest to wander beneath his coat, catching around his waist.
A low, primitive sound came from deep in Colin’s throat.
“We should go back. You are maddening,” the words trailed along her neck, “and I should leave. If I were smart, I would run from Cambourne House as if the devil himself were at my heels.”
“Are you suggesting I’m the devil, Colin?”
“You are.” His mouth brushed hers, nipping at her bottom lip. “Devilishly beautiful.Wonderful. Amazing. You make my heart stop.”
Miranda pressed a kiss against his lips. “I shall start it once again. Contrary organ.”
“And you are quite good at catching frogs.”
Miranda laughed and brought her hands up, wrapping her arms about his neck.
“You can’t leave yet. You promised me a walk in the gardens.”
He shook his head. “We should not. You mother watches us like a hawk. She suspects, I think.”
Miranda took him by the hand, lacing their fingers together, cursing the fact that she wore gloves, although he did not. He rarely did, which pleased her, for she loved the look of his hands. Large, but graceful, sometimes with a bit of ink staining his forefinger.
“Father did not object, and my mother only suspects that I may be happy, and she does not wish me to be.”
Her father, Lord Cambourne, barely looked up from the London Times as Miranda said she and Colin would take a turn about the garden before he took his leave. The Dowager was already asleep in her chair by the fire. Only Miranda’s mother raised a brow, her eyes narrowed with disdain for Colin.
To be fair, her mother liked few people, and certainly not anyone that was acquainted with Sutton. Mother resented that Father’s first wife had borne the Cambourne heir and her resentment festered until she hated Sutton with her entire being. The dislike of her stepson extended to his friends. Mother detested Nick especially but dared not anger the heir to Dunbar. She referred to Colin as the “Irish pauper” telling Father that Colin would steal the silver if they looked the other way. Which was preposterous. Though he might steal a kiss from Miranda.
“Your father did not object because he assumes I squire you about as a favor to your family.” Colin replied as he pressed another kiss beneath her ear. “It is becoming very difficult to pretend that I only tolerate your company as I did when you were a child.” A sigh escaped him. “A short walk. Then I must take my leave.”
Miranda had no intention of allowing Colin to leave yet. She led him outside to the garden, her favorite spot in all of London, for it was the place that most reminded her of Gray Covington. The sun had just started to dip below the horizon, bathing everything in the entire garden with a pale golden light, including Colin.
The waves of his hair glinted as if they were lit by fire. She found Colin to be beautiful, if such a word could be used for a man.
And he belongs to me.
The knowledge filled her heart with indescribable pleasure. She cared little that he had no title, no great estates or wealth. Her ridiculously large dowry would be enough for them to do as they wished. It only mattered that she and Colin would be together.
Miranda thought how wonderful it would be to kiss under the shadow of the Great Pyramid.
Colin pulled her back to him, a tiny smirk on his lips. “What are you about, Miranda?” He shook his head and spared a glance back at the French doors. “This is unwise.”
