The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

spasmodically into his back. 'Please, Turner,' she begged. 'Oh, please. Please, please.'

Unable to control himself any longer, Turner plunged forward to the hilt, shuddering at the exquisite feeling of her squeezing around him. But Miranda stiffened beneath him, and he heard her wince.

'I'm sorry,' he said quickly, trying to keep still and ignore the painful demands of his body. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Does it hurt?'

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

He kissed away the tiny tears forming in the corners of her eyes. 'Don't lie.'

'Just a little,' she admitted in a whisper. 'It was more surprise than anything else.'

'I'll make it better,' he said fervently. 'I promise I will.' Propping himself up on this forearms to keep her free of his weight, he began again to move- slow, sure strokes, each bringing a jolt of pure desire with its sweet friction.

And all the while, his jaw was clenched in concentration, every muscle in his body tight and coiled with the strain of keeping himself in check. In and out, in and out, he chanted to himself. If he moved off rhythm for even just a second, he'd lose control completely. He had to keep this good for her. He wasn't worried for himself- he knew he would reach heaven before the night was through.

But for Miranda…All he knew was that he felt an intense responsibility to make sure that she found bliss as well. He'd never been with a virgin before, so he wasn't certain how likely this would be, but by God, he was going to try. He was afraid that even speaking would set him off, but he managed to say, 'How do you feel?'

Miranda opened her eyes and blinked. 'Good.' She sounded surprised. 'It doesn't hurt anymore.'

'At all?'

She shook her head. 'I feel splendid. And…hungry.' She ran her fingers hesitantly along the length of his back.

Turner shuddered at her feather-light touch and felt his control slipping.

'How do you feel?' she whispered. 'Are you hungry, too?'

He grunted something she couldn't understand and began to move faster. Miranda felt a quickening in her abdomen, then an unbearable tightness. Her fingers and toes began to tingle, and then just when she was certain that her body would shatter into a thousand tiny pieces, something inside her snapped, and her hips jerked up off the mattress with such force that she actually lifted him.

'Oh, Turner!' she yelled. 'Help me!'

He pumped forward relentlessly. 'I will,' he groaned. 'I swear it.' And then he cried out, and his face looked almost pained, and then finally, he breathed, and he sank against her.

They lay entwined for several minutes, damp with exertion. Miranda loved his weight on top of her, loved this feeling of languid contentment. She idly stroked his hair with her hand, wishing the world around them would just go away. How long could they stay here, cocooned in the small hunting lodge, before they would be missed?

'How do you feel?' she asked softly.

His lips curled into a boyish smile. 'How do you think I feel?'

'Good, I hope.'

He rolled off her, propped himself up on one elbow, and caught her under her chin with two fingers. 'Good, I know,' he said, deliberately emphasizing the final word.

Miranda smiled. One couldn't hope for better than that.

'How do you feel?' he said quietly, concern marking his brow. 'Are you sore?'

'I don't think so.' She shifted her weight as if to test her body. 'I might be later.'

'You will.'

Miranda frowned. Had he so much experience deflowering virgins, then? He'd said Leticia had already been with child when they'd married. And then she pushed the thought from her mind. She did not want to be thinking of Leticia. Not now. Turner's dead wife had no place in bed with them.

And she found herself dreaming of babies. Little blond ones, with bright blue eyes, smiling up at her with delight. A miniature Turner, that's what she wanted. She supposed a babe might take after her and be saddled with her less remarkable coloring, but in her mind, it was all Turner, right down to the dimples.

When she finally opened her eyes, she saw him gazing down at her, and he touched her mouth, right where the corner had been curling up. 'What has you in such a reverie?' he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Miranda avoided his gaze, embarrassed by the direction of her thoughts. 'Nothing important,' she murmured. 'Is it still raining?'

'I don't know,' he replied, and he rose to peek out the window.

Miranda pulled the sheets over her nude body, wishing that she hadn't inquired about the weather. If the rain had let up, they would have to return to the main house. They had surely been missed by now. They could claim that they had sought shelter in the rain, but that excuse would ring hollow if they did not return just as soon as the weather cleared.

He pushed the curtains back into place and turned to face her, and Miranda caught her breath at the sheer male beauty of him. She had seen drawings of statues in her father's many books, and he even possessed a miniature of the David statue in Florence. But nothing compared to the living, breathing man standing before her, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, fearing that the mere sight of him would seduce her anew.

'It's still raining,' he said evenly. 'But it's getting lighter. We should clean up our, er, mess, so that we'll be ready to go just as soon as it clears.'

Miranda nodded. 'Could you hand me my clothing?'

He raised a brow. 'Modest now?'

She nodded. Perhaps it was silly, after her wanton behavior, but she was not so sophisticated that she could rise from a bed nude with someone else in the room. She jerked her head toward her skirt, which was still lying on the floor in a heap. 'Could you please?'

He picked it up and handed it to her. It was still wet in places since she hadn't bothered to lay it out flat, but as it had been rather close to the fire, it wasn't too dreadful. She quickly dressed and put the bed aright, pulling the sheets neat and tight, the way she saw the maids doing it at home. It was harder work than she'd expected, what with the bed pushed up against the wall.

By the time they and the lodge were presentable, the rain had thinned down to a vague drizzle. 'I don't suppose our clothing will get much wetter than it already is,' Miranda said as she poked her hand out the window to test the rain.

He nodded, and they made their way back to the main house. He did not speak, and Miranda couldn't bring herself to break the silence, either. What happened now? Did he have to marry her? He should, of course, and if he was the gentleman she'd always thought him to be, he would, but no one knew that she had been compromised. And he knew her too well to worry that she would tell someone in order to trap him into marriage.

Fifteen minutes later, they stood just before the steps leading up to the front door of Chester House. Turner paused and looked at Miranda, his eyes serious and intent. 'Will you be all right?' he asked gently.

She blinked several times. Why was he asking her this now?

'We won't be able to speak once we go inside,' he explained.

She nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her belly. Something was not quite right.

He cleared his throat and stretched his neck as if his cravat were too tight. He cleared his throat again, and then for a third time. 'You will notify me if a situation should arise for which we must act quickly.'

Miranda nodded again, trying to discern whether that had been a statement or a question. A little of both, she decided. And she wasn't sure why it mattered.

Turner took a deep breath. 'I will need a bit of time to think.'

'About what?' she asked, before she had the chance to think the better of it. Shouldn't it all be simple now? What was there left to debate?

'Myself, mostly,' he said, his voice a little hoarse, and maybe a little detached. 'But I will see you shortly, and I will make everything right. You do not need to worry.'

And then, because she was sick of waiting, and she was sick of being so bloody convenient, she blurted out, 'Are you going to marry me?'

Because by God, it was as if the man were speaking through fog.