He presently maintained a London residence larger than her own, only because he wished to accommodate himself and any visiting kinsmen. Miranda knew he felt a responsibility as duke toward his family, his good friends, and any soldier who had served in his Highlands regiment during the Napoleonic Wars and needed a place of shelter for the night.
But then, this was Bram. Fierce, yet always ready to protect those in need. How could she not love him all the more?
In due course, they would figure out what to do with his townhouse, which he’d let from a friend and was of no particular consequence to him. Perhaps this was why the decision to spend their first night as husband and wife at her home came easily for him.
A first night and forever afterward, for hers would become his home, too.
Miranda’s butler greeted them with a big smile at the door. “Welcome home, Your Graces.”
Miranda turned to stare up at Bram. He winked at her.
Yes, she was now his duchess. It was all beginning to sink in.
“How does it feel?” he asked.
“To be your duchess?”
He nodded. “Aye, lass.”
“So far, so good.” She took his hand and cast him a saucy look as she drew him into the parlor for privacy. “But I’ll let you know for certain tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?” He quirked an eyebrow, at first confused. Then he laughed as he understood her meaning. “Blessed saints! Ye’re going to reserve judgment until after our wedding night? Och, I’m no gentleman. And be assured, ye dinna want a gentleman in yer bed. I’ll have ye clutching the headboard and howling with pleasure, lass. Ye needn’t worry about that.”
She looked up at him in playful challenge, her smile broad and full of affection for him. “Oh, really? Do you think you are that good?”
In truth, she knew he was. His body was sinfully appealing, well formed and muscular, especially his arms, which made her melt each time he wrapped her in his embrace.
He regarded her thoughtfully, taking her words seriously when he knew she only meant to tease him. “Aye, if love is a measure, then it will always be good between us. I love ye an awful lot, Miranda.”
She sighed. “I love you too. So very much.”
“I know, lass. And I appreciate how hard it was for ye to ever admit it. In truth, I wasn’t certain ye’d go through with the wedding,” he said, taking her into his arms.
“I’m sorry I gave you cause to doubt,” she said in earnest, wishing she could have been as effervescent and happy-brained as Gwenys. “I’m sorry I handled everything so badly.”
“Dinna apologize to me, love. Ye were suffering. We’ve discussed this already and ye know I was never resentful. How could I be when ye were in so much pain? And I dinna mean the physical pain of yer bruised ribs.” He dipped his head toward hers. “Close yer eyes, for I wish to give ye a sample of what’s to be between us.”
“Here and now?”
“Why not? Ye’re my wife. Are we no’ entitled to intimate moments?”
She nodded.
He lowered his mouth to hers, claiming her heart that was already his as he kissed her with every inch of his soul.
Oh, dear heaven.
She was never going to let this man out of her bed.
Chapter Eighteen
They were inbed before nightfall.
Bram was not certain how that happened, because they were responsible adults who still had much to discuss, and this was no first experience of intimacy for either of them. But they shed their clothes the moment they were locked inside Miranda’s bedchamber and began to devour each other like hungry wolves.
Somehow Bram wound up flat on his back, cupping and gently kneading one of Miranda’s soft, lovely breasts while she sat astride him, leaning forward, their mouths grinding and hot against each other.
There was something to be said for pent-up passion.
