The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

ragged gasps to match her own.

'Such a clever one, you are,' he murmured. 'I should have listened to you long ago.' He began to ease her dress from her shoulders, then pressed his lips against the top of her breast, and the fire of it proved to be too much for Miranda. She arched her back against him, and when his fingers went to the buttons of her dress, she offered no resistance. In seconds, her gown slid down, and his mouth found the tip of her breast.

Miranda moaned at the shock and the pleasure. 'Oh, Turner, I…' She sighed. 'More…'

'A command I am only too happy to obey.' His lips moved to her other breast, where they repeated the same torture.

He kissed and he suckled, and all the while, his hands wandered. Up her leg, around her waist- it was as if he was trying to mark her, to brand her forever as his own.

She felt wanton. She felt womanly. And she felt a need that burned from some strange, fiery place, deep within her. 'I want you,' she breathed, her fingers sinking into his hair. 'I want…'

His fingers wandered higher, to her most tender flesh.

'I want that.'

He chuckled against her neck. 'At your service, Lady Turner.'

She didn't even have time to be surprised by her new name. He was doing something- dear God, she didn't even know what- and it was all she could do not to scream.

And then he pulled away- not his fingers; she would have killed him if he'd tried- but his head, just far enough to gaze down on her with a delicious smile. 'I know something else you'll like,' he taunted.

Miranda's lips parted with breathless surprise as he sank to his knees on the floor of the carriage. 'Turner?' she whispered, because surely he could do nothing from down there. Surely he wouldn't…

She gasped as his head disappeared under her skirts.

Then she gasped again when she felt him, hot and demanding, kissing a trail along her thigh.

And then there could be no more doubt as to his intention. His fingers, which had been doing such a fine job arousing her, shifted position. He was spreading her open, she realized wildly, separating her, preparing her for…

His lips.

After that there was very little rational thought. Whatever she'd thought she'd felt the first time- and the first time had been very good, indeed- it was nothing compared to this. His mouth was wicked, and she was bewitched. And when she shattered, it was with every ounce of her body, every last drop of her soul.

Dear heavens, she thought, trying desperately to find her breath. How could anyone survive such a thing?

Turner's smiling face suddenly appeared before hers. 'Your first wedding gift,' he said.

'I…I…'

''Thank you' will suffice,' he said, cheeky as ever.

'Thank you,' she sighed.

He kissed her gently on the mouth. 'You are very, very welcome.'

Miranda watched him as he adjusted her dress, covering her carefully and finishing with a platonic pat on the arm. His passion seemed to have completely cooled, whereas she still felt as if a flame were licking at her from the inside out. 'Don't you…er, you didn't…'

A wry smile touched his features. 'There isn't much I want more, but unless you want your wedding night in a moving carriage, I'll find a way to abstain.'

'That wasn't a wedding night?' she asked doubtfully.

He shook his head. 'Just a little treat for you.'

'Oh.' Miranda was trying to remember why she had protested the marriage so fiercely. A lifetime of little treats sounded rather lovely.

Her body spent, she felt a languor descending over her, and she settled sleepily into his side. 'We'll do this again?' she mumbled, burrowing into his warmth.

'Oh, yes,' he murmured, smiling to himself as he watched her drift off. 'I promise.'

Chapter 16

Rosedale was, by aristocratic standards, of modest proportions. The warm and elegant home had been in the Bevelstoke family for several generations, and it was customary for the eldest son to use it as his country home before he ascended to the earldom and the much grander Haverbreaks. Turner loved Rosedale, loved its plain stone walls and crenellated roofs. And most of all, he loved the wild landscape, domesticated only by the hundreds of roses that had been planted with wild abandon around the house.

They arrived fairly late at night, having stopped for a leisurely lunch near the border. Miranda had long since fallen asleep- she'd warned him that the motion of a carriage always made her drowsy- but Turner did not mind. He liked the quiet of the night, with only the sounds of the horses and the carriage and the wind in the air. He liked the moonlight, drifting in through the windows. And he liked glancing down at his new wife, who was not at all elegant in her sleep- her mouth was open, and truth be told, she snored just a bit. But he liked that. He didn't know why he liked it, but he did.

And he liked knowing it.

He hopped down from the carriage, placed one finger on his lips when one of the outriders approached to help, then reached back in and scooped Miranda into his arms. She had never been to Rosedale, even though it was not so far from the Lakes. He hoped she would grow to love it as he did. He thought she would. He knew her well, he was beginning to realize. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but he could look at something and think, Miranda would like that.

Turner had stopped here on his way up to Scotland, and the servants had been instructed to have the house ready. It was, although he had not sent word of their exact arrival, and so the staff had not been assembled for an introduction to the new viscountess. Turner was glad for that; he wouldn't have wanted to wake Miranda up.

When he made his way inside his bedchamber, he noticed thankfully that a fire was burning in the hearth. It might have been August, but the Northumberland nights held a distinctive chill. As he set Miranda softly down on the bed, a pair of footmen brought in their meager luggage. Turner whispered to the butler that his new wife could meet the staff in the morning, or perhaps later in the day, and then shut the door.

Miranda, who had gone from snoring to restless mumbling, shifted position and hugged a pillow to her chest. Turner returned to her side and shushed softly in her ear. She seemed to recognize his voice in her sleep; she let out a contented sigh and immediately rolled over.

'No sleep just yet,' he murmured. 'Let's get you out of these clothes.' She was lying on her side, so he went to work on the buttons marching down her back. 'Can you sit up for just a moment? So I can remove your dress?'

Like a sleepy child, she allowed herself to be pulled into a sitting position. 'Where are we?' she yawned, not quite awake.

'Rosedale. Your new home.' He wiggled her skirts up past her hips so that he could pull them over her head.

'Oh. It's nice.' She flopped back down on the bed.

He smiled indulgently and nudged her back up. 'Just another few seconds.' With one deft motion, he pulled her dress over her head, leaving her clad in her chemise.

'Good,' Miranda murmured, trying to crawl under the covers.

'Not so fast.' He caught hold of her ankle. 'We don't sleep with clothing here.' The chemise joined her gown on the floor. Miranda, barely realizing that she was nude, finally made it under the bedclothes, sighed in utter contentment, and promptly fell asleep.

Turner chuckled and shook his head as he watched his wife. Had he noticed before that her eyelashes were so long? Perhaps it was just the candlelight. He, too, was tired, so he stripped off his clothing in quick, efficient movements and crawled into bed. She was lying on her side, curled up like a child, so he snaked an arm around her and pulled her to the center of the bed, where he could cuddle up against her warmth. Her skin was unbearably