He chuckled, partly because that was the only way he could contain the desire that was racing through him. "It's never seemed odd to me."

"I want to see it."

"Oh, God, Miranda." This, between clenched teeth.

"No, I do." She pushed down the covers until he was bared to her eyes. "Oh, my goodness," she breathed. That had fit into her? She could barely believe it. Still immensely curious, she wrapped her hand around him and gently squeezed.

Turner nearly came off the bed.

She let go of him immediately. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," he rasped. "Do it again."

Miranda's lips curved into a feminine smile of satisfaction as she repeated her caresses. "Can I kiss you?"

"You'd better not," he said hoarsely.

"Oh. I thought maybe since you had kissed me…"

Turner let out a primitive growl and flipped her over onto her back and settled himself between her thighs. "Later. You can do it later." Unable to control his passion any longer, his mouth descended onto hers with stunning force, claiming her as his own. He nudged her thigh with his knee, forcing her to open wider.

Miranda instinctively tilted her hips to allow him easier entry. He slid into her effortlessly, and she marveled that her body could stretch to fit him. He began stroking slowly back and forth, back and forth, moving inside her with a slow but steady rhythm. "Oh, Miranda," he moaned. "Oh, my God."

"I know. I know." Her head lolled from side to side. The weight of him was pinning her down, and yet she could not keep still.

"You're mine," he growled, stepping up the pace. "Mine."

She moaned in response.

He held still, his eyes strange and penetrating as he said, "Say it."

"I'm yours," she whispered.

"Every inch of you. Every luscious inch of you. From here"- he cupped her breast- "to here"- he slid his finger along the curve of her cheek- "to here." He pulled out until only the very tip of him remained within her and then pumped back in to the hilt.

"Oh, God yes, Turner. Anything you want."

"I want you."

"I'm yours. I swear it."

"No one else, Miranda. Promise me." He again pulled himself almost out.

She felt utterly bereft without him inside her and almost cried out. "I promise," she gasped. "Please…just come back to me."

He slid back in, causing her to both sigh with relief and pant with desire. "There will be no other men. Do you hear me?"

Miranda knew that his urgent words stemmed from Leticia's betrayal, but she was too caught up in the passion of the moment to even think of scolding him for comparing her to his late wife. "None, I swear! I've never wanted anyone else."

"And you never will," he said firmly, as if he could make it true simply by saying it.

"Never! Please, Turner, please…I need you. I need…"

"I know what you need." His lips closed around one of her nipples as he sped up his movements inside her. She felt pressure building in her body. Spasms of pleasure were shooting through her belly, down her arms, and up her legs. And then suddenly she knew she could not possibly bear another moment without expiring on the spot, and her entire body convulsed, clenching around his manhood like a silken glove. She screamed his name, grasping at his arms as her shoulders came off the bed in the force of her climax.

The sheer sensuality of her release pushed Turner over the edge, and he cried out hoarsely as he plunged forward one last time, driving himself in to the hilt. His pleasure was intense, and he could not believe the speed with which he poured himself into her. He collapsed on top of her, utterly spent. Never had it been this good, never. Not even the last time with Miranda. It was as if every movement, every touch was intensified now that he knew she was his and his alone. He was startled by his possessiveness, stunned by the way he had made her swear her fidelity to him, and disgusted by the fact that he had manipulated her passion to suit his childish needs.

Was she angry? Did she hate him for it? He lifted his head up and looked down into her face. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were curved into a half smile. She looked every inch the satisfied woman, and he quickly decided that if she wasn't offended by his actions or questions, he wasn't going to argue with her.

"You look pink, puss," he murmured, stroking her cheek.

"Still?" she asked lazily, not even opening her eyes.

"Even more so."

Turner smiled, propping himself up on his elbows to take some of his weight off her. He ran his finger along the curve of her cheek, starting at the corner of her mouth and then winding up at the tender skin near her eye. He nudged her lashes. "Open up."

She lifted her lids. "Good morning."

"Indeed." He grinned boyishly.

She squirmed beneath his intense stare. "Aren't you growing uncomfortable?"

"I like it up here."

"But your arms- "

"Are strong enough to hold me up for quite a while longer. Besides, I enjoy looking at you."

Shyly, she averted her gaze.

"No, no, no. No escape. Look back here." He touched her chin and nudged it until she was facing him again. "You're very beautiful, you know."

"I am not," she said in a voice that said she knew he was lying.

"Will you stop quibbling with me over this point? I'm older than you and have seen a lot of women."

"Seen?" she asked dubiously.

"That, my dear wife, is another topic altogether, and one that does not require discussion. I merely wanted to point out that I am probably a bit more of a connoisseur than you are, and you should take my word on the matter. If I say you're beautiful, then you're beautiful."

"Really, Turner, you're very sweet- "

He leaned down until his nose rested on hers. "You're starting to irritate me, wife."

"Good heavens, I wouldn't want to do that."

"I should think not."

Her lips curved into a mischief-tinged smile. "You're very handsome."

"Thank you," he said magnanimously. "Now, did you see how nicely I accepted your compliment?"

"You rather ruined the effect by pointing out your good manners."

He shook his head. "Such a mouth on you. I'm going to have to do something about that."

"Kiss it?" she said hopefully.

"Mmm, not a problem." His tongue darted out and traced the outline of her lips. "Very nice. Very tasty."

"I'm not a fruit tart, you know," she retorted.

"There's that mouth again," he said, sighing.

"I imagine you'll have to keep kissing me."

He sighed as if that were a great chore. "Oh, all right." This time, he poked into her mouth and ran his tongue along the smooth surface of her teeth. When he lifted his head again and looked back down at her face, she was glowing. It seemed the only word to describe the radiance that emanated from her skin. "My Lord, Miranda," he said hoarsely. "You really are beautiful."

He lowered himself down, rolled onto his side, and gathered her into his arms. "I've never seen anyone look quite as you do right this minute," he murmured, pulling her more tightly against him. "Let's just lie here like this for a spell."

He drifted off to sleep, thinking that this was an excellent way to start off a marriage.

6 November 1819

Today marked the tenth week of my marriage- and the third since when I should last have bled. I should not be surprised that I have conceived again so quickly- Turner is a most attentive husband.

I do not complain.

12 January 1820

As I stepped into the bath this evening, I could swear I saw a slight swell to my belly. I believe in it now. I believe it is here to stay.

30 April 1820

Oh, I am large. And nearly three months remain. Turner seems to adore my roundness. He is convinced it shall be a girl. He whispers, "I love you," to my belly.

But just to my belly. Not to me. To be fair, I have not said the words, either, but I am sure he knows that I do. After all, I did tell him before our marriage, and he once said that a person does not fall out of love so easily.

I know he cares for me. Why can he not love me? Or if he does, why can he not say it?

Chapter 17

The months passed, and the newlyweds settled into a comfortable and affectionate routine. Turner, who had lived through a hellish existence with Leticia, was constantly surprised at how pleasant marriage could be when one undertook it with the right person. Miranda was a complete delight to him. He loved to watch her read a book, brush her hair, give instructions to the housekeeper- he loved to watch her do anything. And he found himself constantly looking for excuses to touch her. He would point out an invisible speck of dust on her dress and then brush it aside. A lock of her hair had fallen astray, he would murmur as he pushed it back into place.

And she never seemed to mind. Sometimes, if she was busy with something, she would swat his hand away, but more often she merely smiled, and sometimes she'd move her head- just a touch, just enough to rest her cheek in his hand.

But sometimes, when she did not realize he was watching her, he caught her looking at him with such longing. She always looked away, so quickly that he often could not even be sure that the moment had occurred. But he knew that it had, because when he closed his own eyes at night, he saw hers, with that flash of sadness that clawed at his gut.

He knew what she wanted. It should have been easy. Three simple words. And really, shouldn't he just say them? Even if he didn't mean them, wouldn't it be worth it just to see her happy?

Sometimes he tried to say it, tried to make his mouth form the words, but he always seemed to get this choking feeling, as if his very breath were being squeezed from his throat.