Truly a Wife (Free Fellows League 4)

Ned sent her a questioning glance.

“If I know His Grace, he’s going to want to find out what happened at the duel this morning, and he’ll go straight to the Marquess of Shepherdston or one of his friends for answers.”

* * *

“Daniel?” Miranda leaned over the bed and touched him on the shoulder. “Wake up. It’s morning.”

He bolted upright, then let out a yelp of pain as the sore muscles along his ribs protested. He blinked in confusion, then gave her a devastatingly beautiful smile as images from the night and the morning came flooding back. “Good morning.”

His greeting resembled the rumble of a large cat, and his smile did funny things to her heartstrings. She stared at the bed, blushing at the memory of all they had done there and all they had shared.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but Ned arrived with your clothes, and, well …” she hesitated. “We knew you’d want to know.”

“Know what?” The cobwebs of sleep dissipated, and Daniel was instantly awake. He looked at the clock on the mantel, read the time, and turned to face her. “I slept that long?”

She nodded. “You were tired.”

“I was nothing of the sort,” Daniel protested. “I was exhausted by a certain insatiable auburn-haired beauty who screams like a banshee when she …” He broke off and gave her a lopsided grin. The words she’d screamed hung between them. Four little words he’d left unanswered. I love you, Daniel. He ought to answer them now. This morning. But he couldn’t bring himself, in the sober light of day, to say the words he’d always managed to avoid. Not after a night of extraordinary lovemaking. With Miranda. Not when she knew him so well. Not when he feared they would sound like a sop to his conscience. Better to say them later when he’d had more time to come to terms with the fact that he was in love with Miranda. That he’d always been in love with Miranda. Daniel drew in a painful breath. Better to yell the words in the heat of passion when there was less chance of her doubting his sincerity. “Who would have thought that a nice little marchioness like you could be so incredibly demanding in bed? Or so incredibly giving?”

She looked down at the floor and noticed that a wayward chess piece—a bishop—lay half hidden by the bed linen. She’d told him she loved him and he couldn’t say the same.

Daniel reached out and lifted her chin with the tip of his index finger. “Have I thanked you yet for the best night of my life?”

She shook her head. “But then, I haven’t thanked you, either.”

He leaned forward and gave her a good morning kiss. “

Strange, isn’t it?” Daniel asked after kissing her thoroughly.

“What?”

“Waking up with you like this. No longer at cross purposes.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I haven’t spent an entire night with a woman since I left the university. I never spend the night with a woman sharing my pillow, and I’ve done it twice with you in as many days.” He met her gaze. “I wonder what that means.”

“Maybe it means you know I can be trusted to keep your secrets,” she suggested.

“Maybe it does,” he agreed, reaching for her hand to pull her back into bed. “Or maybe it means I simply enjoy sharing a bed with you.”

Miranda reluctantly pulled away. “Would that we could …”

“We can.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Quite thoroughly. And in the full light of morning.”

She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “Not this morning.”

“Why not?”

“Because there were a great many strange goings-on in town last night while we were otherwise engaged—not the least of which was a certain Lord Dunbridge challenging the Marquess of Shepherdston to a duel at Lady Garrison’s last night.” She spread his clothes across the foot of the bed.

“What?” He sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed. “How do you know that?”

“Ned heard all about it at the Cocoa Tree this morning.” Miranda turned around and left the room to retrieve his breakfast tray. When she returned, she filled his cup with coffee and handed it to him, then set the tray with the coffeepot and plate of pastries on the bedside table and related everything Ned had told her in the kitchen. “It’s in this morning’s papers if you want to read it.” She waved the copy of the “Ton Tidbits” at him.

“You read it to me while I dress.” Daniel took a deep swallow of his coffee, wolfed down a pastry, then set his cup aside. Ignoring the stockinette drawers, he stood up and reached for the new pair of tightly knitted stockings and the new pair of buff breeches she’d laid out for him.

Miranda read: “ ‘What’s to become of Miss Sarah Eckersley, who was seen at Lady Garrison’s elegant gala last evening in the company of the elusive Marquess of Shepherdston? Has she been taken off the market? No one can say for sure, but Miss Eckersley proved to be the bone of contention last evening when Lord Dunbridge, a devoted follower of the Prince Regent’s close friend, Mr. George Brummell, challenged Lord Shepherdston to a duel. Are wedding bells in the Marquess of Shepherdston’s future? Has the perennial bachelor marquess finally succumbed to the lure of orange blossoms? Can a rustic rector’s daughter take him off the market? No one seems to know for sure … But we will surely find out soon …’ ”

Miranda finished reading and watched as Daniel pulled on his stockings, then stepped into his breeches. She watched as he pulled the buff breeches up his long legs and over his hips and buttocks, where they molded to him like a second skin. He buttoned two buttons, then reached for his lawn shirt. “No drawers?” Miranda asked.

“Not in these.” Daniel gave her a lascivious wink. “There’s no room.” He lifted his shirt and attempted to pull it over his head. But the wound in his side and the binding around his ribs made it impossible. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you mind?”