Page 54 of So Wild A Heart

“The nursery!”

“I grant you that they are a trifle miniature-size, but we can make do.” He took the plates and laid them down on the table, then pulled out one of the small chairs in a grand gesture. “If my lady will sit.”

Miranda grinned. “I should be honored, my lord.”

She sat down, and Devin took his place opposite her. She smothered a giggle at the sight of him sitting with his knees almost up to his chin, and he gave her a mock frown. “I am the lord of the manor, I’ll have you know. You mustn’t make jest of me.”

“I would never do such a thing,” Miranda assured him solemnly. Picking up her fork, she tucked into her food with enthusiasm. Her stomach had been too nervous for her to eat earlier, and now, she realized, she was ravenous.

While they ate, Devin entertained her with stories about his childhood, pointing out the cupboard where he had hidden as a little boy in order to jump out and scare his sisters, but had then fallen asleep and been presumed lost, with the whole household out looking for him.

“Only the first of many misadventures,” he told her with a wry grin.

They talked and laughed, sitting there incongruously in their wedding finery, and it seemed to Miranda the happiest wedding dinner she could possibly have had.

Later they walked down to the medieval musicians’ gallery, a small screened room that jutted out above the ballroom below. Through the latticework, they could look down on the party and hear the mingling of music, laughter and talk that rose from it.

“Rachel and Caro and I used to sneak in here after Nurse fell asleep and watch our parents’ parties,” Devin said. “They weren’t terribly exciting, but they seemed so to us—mostly because they were forbidden.”

“That always makes things much more fun,” Miranda agreed.

He took her hand, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world, pleasant and warm, in keeping with the light, happy aura of their “picnic.” But there was an underlying current of excitement in the touch, as well, a knowledge of his skin against hers, his warmth, his flesh, his smell—this man who was almost a stranger to her, yet her husband, as well.

They strolled along the hallway to her room, and Devin opened the door, stepping aside for her to enter. She turned to say good-night, but he was already coming in the door, too.

“What—what are you doing?”

Devin closed the door behind him, and his eyes locked on hers. “Tonight is our wedding night.” He took a step forward, and his hands went to her shoulders. “And I am your husband.”

13

Miranda’s breath locked in her throat, and she was unable to do anything except stare at Devin as he came closer. Then his hands were on her shoulders, and he turned her gently around, saying, “Your maid will not come tonight. I will be your personal maid.”

His hands started on the row of buttons that marched down the back of her dress. His fingers brushed her skin as he did so, and it sent a shiver through her. Miranda struggled to collect her thoughts.

“I think that is hardly necessary. If I ring for the maid, I am sure she will come.”

“Most likely. Still…much easier if I do it.”

Miranda could feel the two sides of her dress parting and falling away from her back, exposing the bare flesh above her chemise. She clasped her hand to her chest to hold the dress up. His lips pressed against the bare skin of her upper back, velvety and warm. She felt the rush of his breath against her sensitive flesh.

“Devin…” His name came out hoarsely, and she stopped to clear her throat. She straightened and stepped away from the pleasurable touch of his mouth. “No. Really. This is enough.”

He slid his hands over her back, pushing her dress down onto her arms, caressed her shoulders, and it seemed as if everywhere he touched sprang to tingling life.

“It’s not enough,” he disputed her words, bending down to plant a trail of kisses across her collarbone and onto her shoulder. “It won’t be enough until I have you. All of you.”

“This is exactly what we agreed would not happen,” she said, trying to inject censure into her voice, which came out far too breathless for her comfort.

“No. This is what you agreed would not happen. I never agreed upon it at all.”

He slipped his hands in under the opened sides of her dress, gliding around her back and onto her stomach, nothing separating his skin from hers but the thin layer of her chemise. Miranda drew in her breath in a gasp. He made a soft noise and nuzzled her neck.

A long shudder ran down through her, and she could not suppress a moan.

“This is what’s right. You can feel it,” he murmured, his breath fluttering enticingly over her skin. “This is what it’s meant to be like.”

He moved his hands up to cup her breasts, kneading and caressing them as his mouth teased at her neck and ears. Desire flooded Miranda, almost frightening in its intensity, and she knew that she wanted nothing more than to spend the night in his bed, to be introduced to the delights of passion at his hands. It would be easy to give in, easy to taste the pleasure.