Without so much as a knock, Miranda burst in on him in his study, startling him so that he would have made a blot if he had not quickly lifted the pen from the paper. He looked up at her. "Yes? Is something amiss?"
"No." She stood indecisively in the doorway for a moment. He was puzzled by the hesitation in her manner, given her brusque entry.
"Have your sisters broken a Meissen vase? Driven Cook from the kitchen? Chosen inappropriate gowns?" He could not imagine what matter might have brought her here. Especially since she had no cup of medicinal tea or bowl of noxious soup in her hands.
She came in quietly, closing the door. "Your mother reminded me that I should consult you about a piece of jewelry to wear with my new gown." Her apprehension was all too visible to him. She would not look him full in the face, but glanced from the fire to him to the settee perched under the window.
He steepled his hands in front of him. Jewels.
"What kind of piece did you have in mind?" And why are you so apprehensive? But that question remained unvoiced. He did not want her to retreat before he had the answer to that particular question.
She seemed to have difficulty pulling her gaze from the settee to meet his. Her cheeks flushed from something other than her simple answer. "Something plain would do. Pearls, perhaps." He was intensely curious to know what she was thinking, but he was too wise to ask.
"Pearls are for young unmarried girls." He dismissed her request. It would be a pleasure to find the necklace that would enhance her beauty. "I have in mind something more elaborate. I will get the family jewels from the safe and allow you to choose whatever piece strikes your fancy." And even more of a pleasure, for him, to fasten it around her neck and feel her skin beneath his fingers. Perhaps he would allow himself to kiss her nape.
"Thank you." Her words seemed less than final, and she showed no signs of leaving.
"Was there anything else?"
Yes, her eyes told him. "No." But she did not leave. And her nervousness heightened with every moment she spent in the room with him. Standing before him in the simple jonquil-yellow gown that he had chosen for her, she radiated tension from the set of her shoulders to the tips of her clasped fingers. And her gaze, for some reason, went frequently to the settee.
He had the absurd impulse to lock the study door and carry her to that same piece of furniture. But even a few kisses would be dangerous. No one would dare interrupt him at his business for anything less than a catastrophe. Knowing that, he could not trust himself to stop at only kisses. He forced himself to say a bland, "Good day, then."
She stood without moving, her eyes a dark, drugging brandy and he read her expressive face with a sudden jolt of dread. "Simon," she whispered. "I feel odd. As if I were like Sleeping Beauty. As if one kiss might awaken me."
He said nothing. He could not speak.
"What should I do?" She wanted what he did. But it was more than he could give. She wanted to find a way to touch his heart in the way she had done in the past. The truth was written in her parted lips, in the way her eyes seemed unfocused and yet hypnotically drawn to him, in the way her breathing had become shallow and rapid.
Striving to maintain his sanity, Simon hit upon the perfect way to ensure that she maintained the distance between them. He would make her angry. Perhaps even angrier than she had ever been at him. She would most likely be hurt, as well, but it could not be helped.
"So you do not want to wait, then?" He laughed as if he were amused, not aroused, although the effort made sweat break out on his brow.
The dark want in her eyes deepened and he added quickly, lest she realize that he shared the fire of her desire, "Women do have an affinity for jewels, I suppose."
The palpable need she radiated abated somewhat, he noted with relief. "Let me get them now. That will give you time to change your mind a dozen times or more before the weekend."
He moved to the safe with heavy limbs, took his time opening it, struggling to batter down the urge to do as she suggested and wake the Sleeping Beauty within her. Even with his back to her, he could feel the heat of her desire calling to him.
He put the box in front of her, knowing what she would say. Her eyes were on him as he flipped up the leather box lid to reveal the jewels, nested in black velvet. The velvet made him think of her skin and how it felt beneath his fingers. Soft. So soft.
With one last glance at the settee, she looked through the box distractedly. He wondered if she thought of his skin when she touched velvet — and drove the thought away. Impatience caught him as she looked through the box with little interest. He had buried her necklace at the bottom, under all else.
She did not find it before picking up a strand of pearls. "These will do."
"Of course they won't do." He took them from her hands and held them critically against her throat. Her pulse beat under her fingers. "You need something more striking to complement your gown. Something with more elaborate gold work."
"These will be fine." Her hands covered his as he held the necklace, pressing his knuckles against the smooth skin that stretched over her collarbone. He forgot for a moment why he was holding the necklace as his heart matched the beat of the pulse in her throat.
After the silence had drawn tight between them and he could think of nothing but kissing her, he remembered his resolve and broke free of her hold. He dropped the pearl necklace into his pocket. "Look for something else, Miranda. You are a duchess, now."
With a sigh that disturbed the tendrils of hair that had managed to escape her pins and wisped at her cheek, she went back to looking through the box.
He knew the moment she found the necklace because she grew absolutely still. She did not even breathe.
"What is this?" Her voice was sharp, and yet it trembled.
He hoped he had not just made the worst mistake of his misbegotten life as she lifted her eyes, wide with shock, to his.