He stared down at her exposed bosom. “Though I’m sure you’d be a very tasty dinner.”
Miranda gasped, aware that his words had another meaning. She forgot what she intended to say, then remembered. “You ought to be in bed.”
Daniel grinned wickedly. “I’m doing my damnedest to get there.”
“I’m serious,” Miranda replied, her tone laced with concern and the tiniest hint of disapproval.
“So am I,” he replied. “I’m willing to go to bed—just as soon as you waltz me out of here and into the carriage I hope to God you left waiting.” He looked her in the eye. “Tell me, sweet Miranda, will you take me to bed?”
Miranda blushed. How he managed to make his words sound so suggestive when he was barely able to keep his feet was beyond her. “Your bed is upstairs, Your Grace.”
“Up sixty-eight stairs I can’t negotiate,” he admitted. “And even if I could get to my bed without anyone down here noticing, how long do you think it would be before word got around upstairs that I was in my bed instead of at the party? How long before she discovered the reason for my absence?” He leered at her. “Unless you’re willing to join me upstairs and give me a better reason for abandoning the party …”
“Daniel!” Her blush was hotter this time. “She’s your mother,” Miranda reminded him. “She should know you’re injured.”
“No, she should not.” He ground out the words. “No one can know.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the top of Miranda’s head. “No one except you.”
“Why me?”
“Because I trust you,” he told her. “And …”
Miranda’s heart swelled with pride at his admission. “And?”
“You’re the only woman tall enough and strong enough to manage.”
Miranda’s romantic dreams dissolved in a burst of white-hot flame that tasted of ashes. “Thank you for informing me of that, Your Grace.” Miranda’s reply was sharper than she intended, but she was struggling to keep her hurt and the tears that stung her eyes from showing. “No doubt I needed to be reminded that I’m always the biggest, clumsiest, most awkward girl anywhere,” she muttered.
His words had come out all wrong. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. All he’d meant to do was answer her question. Daniel frowned. He’d learned years ago that he was able to consume a great deal more liquor than most men of his acquaintance. He could drink to excess and keep his feet, even dance if necessary. He could gamble and retain his card sense. He could sit a horse without falling off, and drive his phaeton if necessary. He had the ability to drink heavily and still go about his normal routine generally none the worse for having done so and with no one the wiser.
Among his friends, his ability to hold his drink was legendary.
Daniel wished he possessed the same ability to hold his tongue and subdue his more amorous instincts while under the influence. But that wasn’t the case. He could make love and perform admirably, if not exceptionally, while drunk, and he had a tendency to reveal and caress as much of his partner’s naked flesh as possible without regard to rules of society or propriety, and to talk the entire time—traits most disconcerting to a man who prided himself on his judgment and restraint.
The alcohol that had dulled the pain in his side tonight had also dulled his inhibitions and his good manners. And unfortunately there didn’t seem to be a thing he could do about it except try to say as little as possible and keep his hands to himself until he sobered up. Daniel exhaled. “Miranda …”
“No,” she answered, avoiding his gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
His apology sounded so genuine and heartfelt that Miranda looked at him, but her expression was doubtful.
“My words came out all wrong.”
“That’s odd,” she said. “Because I heard them quite clearly.”
“You heard what I said, not what I meant.”
“Then suppose you explain yourself.”
“Waltz me out of here and I will,” he pleaded.
She hesitated.
Daniel pressed his advantage. “Please, Miranda, I can’t walk out of here on my own, and I bloody well can’t quadrille out. Waltzing is the only way I can get to the terrace …”
The terrace. Waltzing beneath the stars with Daniel on the terrace … There was nothing romantic about the way he presented it, but suggesting that she waltz him outside was so out of character and so daring that Miranda was willing to do it. Despite the consequences. Because if she was seen waltzing outside and onto the terrace with Daniel, she might as well bid her good name and her reputation goodbye.
The Sussex House gardens lay beyond that terrace, and its vast landscape of formal gardens surrounded by hedges and decorated with a myriad of statuary provided numerous opportunities for stealing kisses or a quick rendezvous despite the fact that the duchess had ordered it illuminated with torches and gaslights. “You’re an ass, Your Grace …”