And for the remainder of their walk and drive, Miranda found herself flirting, laughing, and getting to know this young man who’d entered her life so very unexpectedly. And their companionship was not only about asking questions and learning one another’s histories but simply enjoying the other person’s company.
Being.
For the first time in months, she didn’t feel completely alone.
Chapter 4
Torn
Peter closed the door behind them, glancing around the room he’d acquired for the remainder of the evening, feeling torn.
After the lovely drive and enjoying her company immensely, almost as though he was courting her, it didn’t feel right for him to bring her here.
At the same time, he doubted she would have agreed to the drive if he hadn’t first agreed to what she wanted.
“So, this is what a hotel is like.” She ventured across the room, touching the top of a dresser, running her fingertips along the back of a chair.
She was not the same as she’d been the night before.
“I’ve ordered a meal sent up.” He swallowed hard at the sight of her standing beside the bed. Seeing the curves he’d not had a chance to fully explore the night before stirred the most basic need inside of him, but he wasn’t ready to move in that direction yet.
Because she was gradually sharing the things that he suspected she normally kept closely guarded.
She met his gaze meaningfully and, for the first time since he’d collected her for their drive, she withdrew.
“Tomorrow I will play for you.” He wanted her here—all of her. “I’ll have my manservant deliver Rosa to this room.” Because he didn’t want today to be the end of things between them.
“You are awfully certain of yourself, Peter Spencer.” But she had not told him no.
A knock sounded at the door and neither of them spoke until the meal was laid out on the small table and the servant closed the door behind him.
“I hope you are hungry.” Peter pulled out one of the chairs for her and breathed a sigh of relief when she uncrossed her arms and lowered herself onto one of the chairs at the table. “I didn’t know what you would like so I told them to send some of everything.”
And when he removed lids from a few of the plates, he sensed her relaxing again. “This appears to be fowl of some kind, definitely beef, lamb perhaps?”
“You are ridiculous.” But she was assisting him now, revealing some vegetables and some mixture that might or might not consist of potatoes. “But it smells delicious.”
She tasted everything in tiny bites, making faces but also appreciative sounds when the food deserved it. Although she was a few years older than him, there were moments when she seemed much younger. Her father had thrust her directly into marriage from childhood, not allowing her to experience the normal rituals that came with adolescence.
She was delightful, Peter realized, leaning back in his chair having eaten his fill, as he listened to her share a story about her late husband. And yet only one of her strings was in tune. Because just beneath the surface, tension was building inside of her again.
That need he’d felt the night before. He’d given into it; hell, he’d more than given into it. But was giving in the best thing he could do for her?
Was giving in the best thing he could do for them?
And if he did not, would she consent to see him again in the few days before he had to leave?
“You are thinking very hard over there.” She leaned forward, having folded her napkin and discarded it on the table.
“You know that I want you.” He wouldn’t play games.
She stiffened, becoming suddenly alert to his mood.
“But I don’t want this to be a business transaction between us. Because I like you. I…” He cleared his throat, suddenly wondering if he was making a mistake. “I’m coming to care for you.”
“But you hardly know me. You can’t.” Her eyes were wide with what he could only describe as panic. “You are leaving.”
“Brighton is not the end of the world. You wouldn’t even have to stay with your husband’s relatives. I could rent a house for you, but I know that you are independent and would likely prefer arranging your own accommodations.”
She pushed her chair back. “Unfasten your trousers, sir.”
She did not shock him this time. It was the manner in which she could take control of a situation. And watching her, his blood heated, his cock already hard, he didn’t have the self-discipline to deny her this—or, by God—to deny himself.
“Do you want me, or do you need me?” He slid the buttons out of their slots, all the while locking his gaze with hers as she seemingly searched for an answer.
“Both.” Her throat moved.
“Then come here.” He slid down his chair and gripped her waist as she lifted her gown and straddled him.
A moment later, he was filling her again, but unlike the night before, she was facing him. He captured her mouth with his and explored the tender flesh inside with his tongue. When she whimpered as she rode him, he tugged her bodice down and buried his face between her breasts.
“Miranda,” he breathed. In a single day, she’d invaded his soul. His music had been everything to him. He’d thought it had been enough.
He’d been wrong.
Her fingers tugged at his hair, stinging his scalp and stirring the most wicked of urges. He breathed in her very essence. He lifted her, moved with her, and greedily claimed everything she would give to him this night.
But her body wasn’t the only prize he wished to claim.
He was beginning to suspect that he might also want to claim her heart.
Miranda crept out of the room just before the break of dawn, riding home in a hired hackney and filled with conflicting emotions.
Peter was just so… transparent with who he was and what he was feeling. How was a lady supposed to respond to that?
Once safely ensconced in her home again, she bathed and dressed and went over a few bills Herman brought to her. After that, she made her usual visit to the nearby foundling hospital in an attempt to reclaim some sort of normalcy.
She experienced only a modicum of success.
Because even as she assisted two of the older girls with their reading assignments, she’d caught herself dreaming of the night ahead, and then had to push the romantic nonsense from her mind.
He’d asked her the day before if she had loved Baldwin, and she’d told him she didn’t know what love was.
Why did he care? It couldn’t be because he was falling in love with her. She was a temporary diversion, an enjoyable fling before immersing himself in his playing again.
And he was only a temporary diversion for her, as well. She couldn’t allow herself to fall for his unrelenting charm and talk of love. Because he was leaving, and attaching any real emotion to him would be painful in the end.
After returning home again, she polished the silver with her housekeeper, went over menus with her cook, and then discussed her wardrobe with Constance, her lady’s maid, all the while contemplating the wisdom of spending another night in Peter Spencer’s bed.
In his arms.
She even penned out an excuse but then failed to order it sent to Burtis House, where he resided with his family.