She just wanted to live in the moment, to enjoy her many blessings without having to think about it.

Turner made a timely entrance, striding back into the room and dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Mrs. Hingham says she'll send up a plate of food in a few minutes."

"I told you you shouldn't have bothered to go down," Miranda scolded. "I knew that nothing would be ready."

"If I hadn't gone down myself," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, "I would have had to wait for a maid to come and see what I wanted, then I would have had to wait for her to go down to the kitchens, then I would have had to wait while Mrs. Hingham prepared our food, then- "

Miranda held her hand up. "Enough! I see your point."

"It will arrive more quickly this way." He leaned forward with a devilish grin. "I'm not a patient person."

Neither was she, Miranda thought ruefully.

But her husband, oblivious to her stormy thoughts, merely smiled as he gazed out the window. A light dusting of snow covered the trees.

A footman and a maid slipped into the room, bringing food and setting it up on Turner's desk.

"Aren't you worried about your papers?" Miranda asked.

"They'll be fine." He shoved them all into a pile.

"But won't they get mixed up?"

He shrugged. "I'm hungry. That's more important. You're more important."

The maid let out a little sigh at his romantic words. Miranda smiled tightly. The household staff probably thought he professed his love to her whenever they were out of earshot.

"Now then," Turner said briskly. "Here is some beef and vegetable stew, puss. I want you to eat every bite."

Miranda looked dubiously at the tureen he'd set in front of her. It would take a small army of pregnant women to finish it all. "You're joking," she said.

"Not at all." He dipped the spoon into the stew and held it up in front of her mouth.

"Really, Turner, I can't- "

He darted the spoon into her mouth.

She choked in surprise for a second, then chewed and swallowed. "I can feed myself."

"But this is much more fun."

"For you, perha- "

In went the spoon again.

Miranda swallowed. "This is ridiculous."

"Not at all."

"Is this some way to teach me not to talk so much?"

"No, although I missed a great opportunity with that last sentence."

"Turner, you're incorr- "

Got her again. "Incorrigible?"

"Yes," she spluttered.

"Oh, dear," he said. "You got a bit on your chin."

"You're the one wielding the spoon."

"Sit still." He leaned forward and licked a drop of sauce off her skin. "Mmm, delicious."

"Have some," she deadpanned. "There's plenty."

"Oh, but I wouldn't want to deprive you of valuable nutrients."

She snorted in response.

"Here is another bite- oh, dear, I seem to have missed your mouth again." His tongue flicked out and cleaned up the mess.

"You did that deliberately!" she accused.

"And purposefully waste food that could be feeding my pregnant wife?" He placed one affronted hand on his chest. "What a cur you must think me."

"Perhaps not a cur, but certainly a sneaky little- "

"Victory!"

She wagged her finger at him. "Mmph grmphng gtrmph."

"Don't talk with your mouth full. It's very bad manners."

She swallowed. "I said, I will have my vengeance, you- " She broke off when the spoon connected with her nose.

"Now look what you did," he said, shaking his head in an exaggerated motion. "You were moving around so much I missed your mouth. Hold still now."

She pursed her lips but couldn't stop the barest hint of a smile from breaking through.

"That's a good girl," he murmured, leaning forward. He caught the tip of her nose in his mouth and gave it a little suck until all the gravy was gone.

"Turner!"

"The only woman in the world with a ticklish nose," he chuckled. "And I had the good sense to marry you."

"Stop, stop, stop."

"Putting gravy on your face, or kissing you?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "Putting gravy on my face. You don't need an excuse to kiss me."

He leaned forward. "I don't?"

"No."

"Imagine my relief." His nose touched hers.

"Turner?"

"Hmmm?"

"If you don't kiss me soon, I think I shall go mad."

He teased her with the most feathery light of kisses. "Will that do?"

She shook her head.

He deepened the kiss. "That?"

"I'm afraid not."

"What do you need?" he whispered, his voice hot against her lips.

"What do you need?" she countered. Her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, and out of habit, she began to knead.

And apparently instantly diffused his ardor. "Oh, Lord, Miranda," he groaned, his body going limp, "that's wonderful. No, don't stop. Please don't stop."

"It's remarkable," she said with a faint smile. "You really are putty in my hands."

"Anything," he moaned. "Just don't stop."

"Why are you so tense?"

He opened his eyes and leveled a wry glance at her. "You know very well."

She blushed. Her physician had informed her during his last visit that it was time to stop marital relations. Turner hadn't stopped grumbling for a week.

"I refuse to believe," she said, lifting her fingers from his shoulders and then smiling when he moaned in protest, "that I am the sole cause of your horrid backaches."

"Stress from not being able to make love to you, physical exertion from carrying your now enormous body up the stairs…"

"You've never once had to carry me up the stairs!"

"Yes, well, I've thought about it, and that has certainly been enough to give me a backache. Right…" He twisted his arm around and pointed to a spot on his back. "…there."

Miranda pursed her lips but nonetheless started rubbing where he indicated. "You, my lord, are a big baby."

"Mmmm-hmmm," he agreed, his head practically lolling to the side. "Mind if I lie down? It'll make it easier for you."

How, Miranda wondered, had he managed to manipulate her into rubbing his back right there on the carpet? But she was enjoying herself, too. She loved touching him, loved memorizing the contours of his body. Smiling to herself, she pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his breeches and slipped her hands underneath so that she could touch his skin. It was warm and silky, and she could not help but run her hands lightly over it, just to feel the golden softness that was uniquely him.

"I wish you could rub my back," she heard herself say. It had been many weeks since she'd last been able to lie on her stomach.

He turned his head so that she could see his face, and he smiled. Then, with a little groan, he sat up. "Sit still," he said softly, turning her around so that he could massage her back.

It felt like heaven. "Oh, Turner," she sighed. "That feels so lovely."

He made a noise- a strange one, and she twisted as best she could so that she could see his face. "I'm sorry," she said, grimacing as she saw the desire and restraint at war in his eyes. "I miss you, too, if that's any consolation."

He crushed her to him, holding her as tightly as he was able without pressing too hard against her belly. "It's not your fault, puss."

"No, I know, but I'm still sorry. I miss you dreadfully." She lowered her voice. "Sometimes you're so deep inside of me, it feels like you're touching my heart. I miss that most of all."

"Don't talk like that," he rasped.

"I'm sorry."

"And for the love of God, stop apologizing."

She almost giggled. "I'm- no, I take that back. I'm not. But I am sorry that you, er, that you are in such a state. It doesn't seem fair."

"It's more than fair. I get a healthy wife and a beautiful baby. And all I have to do is restrain myself for a few months."

"But you shouldn't have to," she murmured suggestively, her hand straying to the buttons at the front of his breeches. "You shouldn't have to."

"Miranda, stop. I can't take it."

"You shouldn't have to," she repeated as she pushed his already untucked shirt up over his chest and kissed his flat stomach.

"What- oh, God, Miranda." He let out a ragged moan.

Her lips moved ever lower.

"Oh, God! Miranda!"

7 May 1820

I am shameless.

But my husband does not complain.

Chapter 18

The next morning, Turner dropped a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead. "You're certain you'll be all right without me?"

Miranda swallowed and nodded, blinking back tears that she had sworn she wouldn't shed. The sky was still dark, but Turner had wanted an early start to London. She was sitting up in bed, her hands resting atop her belly as she watched him get dressed. "Your valet is going to have an apoplectic fit," she said, trying to tease him. "You know he thinks you don't know how to dress yourself properly."

Clad only in breeches, Turner walked to her side and perched on the edge of the bed. "You're sure you don't mind my leaving?"

"Of course I mind. I'd much rather have you here." A wobbly smile touched her face. "But I will be just fine. And I'll most likely get a lot more work done without you here to distract me."

"Oh? And am I so very distracting?"

"Very. Although"- she smiled sheepishly- "I can't be 'distracted' very much lately."

"Mmmm. Sad, but true. I, unfortunately, am distracted all the time." He cupped her chin with his fingers and lowered his lips onto hers in a passionately tender kiss. "Every time I see you," he murmured.

"Every time?" she asked doubtfully.

He gave her a solemn nod.

"But I look like a cow."