by Denise Lynn
‘Perhaps, but I did embarrass you along with myself. I don’t think anyone other than maybe my father has ever seen my mother be ill. Doing so in public the way I did was shameful.’
‘Surely you are jesting?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Isabella, if you drank overmuch and became ill on a regular basis, that might pose a problem and we would have to consider watering your wine. But this had nothing to do with over-imbibing of your own free will.’ He stroked his fingers down her cheek to her chin and turned her head to face him. ‘Do you understand that you nearly died tonight?’
‘I am sure my parents will be relieved to know I didn’t.’
He released her chin and frowned. Was this more senseless babbling or was she regaining a bit of her wayward tongue? It was too soon for her to have regained all of her wits, so this had to be more of the malaise that had affected her earlier.
‘Yes, I am sure they will be.’ But so was he.
A sudden bout of sniffing made him want to cut off his tongue. He shifted her so she was more sideways than straight across his legs. Her liquid gaze gave away her losing battle with yet more tears. ‘And so am I, Isabella, so am I.’
She rested her cheek against his shoulder. ‘I can’t help myself.’
‘I know.’ He wrapped his arms around her, suggesting, ‘We could distract you.’
‘I doubt that anything could distract me from this infuriating oh, poor sad me mood that has captured me fast in its clutches.’
‘Oh, ye of so little faith.’
They were in a tub together and she was naked. Distracting her would take little effort. He lowered the arm he’d draped across her chest and placed his hand on her thigh.
‘Well, yes, that might distract me somewhat.’
‘Somewhat?’ He caressed her leg, stroking a lazy path from knee to hip and down again. ‘Just somewhat?’
She shrugged and said nothing. But the quickness of her breaths told him that he’d already surpassed distracting her somewhat.
‘While you’re somewhat distracted, you need to drink.’ He reached under the tent for the pitcher of water and the cup, which he handed to her. ‘Hold this.’ After filling it with the water he nudged the bottom of the cup, then waited for her to finish it off before returning the items to the stool.
Settling back against the tub, he casually rested his hand on her stomach, asking, ‘Now, where was I?’
Isabella picked up his hand and placed it on her thigh. ‘I believe you were here.’
‘But I remember being here.’ He moved his touch to caress the soft skin covering her ribcage.
‘I think your memory is faulty.’
‘My mistake. I was here.’ He cupped her breast, teasing the pebbled nipple with his thumb and tightening his arm across her shoulder when she jumped in surprise.
‘No, you’re wrong.’ She turned slightly in his arms to breathe against his neck. ‘I would have remembered that.’
‘Are you certain?’ The sound of her quick breaths coaxed him to tease a little more. ‘After all, you were drugged. That might have confused your memories.’
‘Maybe.’ She gripped his shoulder. ‘I might have been remembering someone else.’
Richard laughed, knowing she was but teasing him. ‘My lady’s humour is returning.’
She trailed her hand along the side of his neck, up to his cheek and turned her face up to his. ‘Humour is not what I’m feeling.’
He placed a quick kiss on her lips, then reached once again for the water and cup. ‘What you’re feeling is called thirst.’
Isabella briefly pressed her fingernails into his shoulder before taking the cup. ‘What you’re feeling is plain mean.’
‘Drink.’
When she finished, he once again put the items back on the stool. ‘So, I’m feeling mean, am I?’
She squirmed on his lap, making him gasp as his lust leapt from wanting, to clawing need. Richard breathed deeply to calm the riotous pounding of his heart. He wasn’t turning this leisurely bath into anything other than what it was—a means of helping her relax and rid her body of the poisons that had made her sick.
‘Yes, you are being mean. You tease and tempt, but do nothing to ease my torment.’
He stared at her, wishing there was enough light inside the dark confines of this bathing tent to see her face. Did her eyes shimmer with desire, or were they still glassy from the herbs?
When she started to move around again on his lap, he grasped her hip. ‘Stop it.’
‘Why, my Lord Dunstan, you sound...distracted.’ She ran a hand down his chest, coming to rest low on his belly.
‘Cease.’
She inched her fingers lower, sliding them beneath the soaked fabric of his braies.
‘Isabella, you need to choose.’ He caught her wrist. ‘You can either sit here with me in this bath. Or you can sit here alone.’
‘But I yearn for you and I’m willing—’
‘I’m not.’
She jerked as if he’d slapped her. ‘You don’t desire me?’
From the waver in her voice he knew she was still at least partly caught in the drugged fog. ‘Not desire you? Have you lost your wits completely?’
Still holding on to her wrist, he pushed her hand to his groin, closing his eyes with a groan when she wrapped her fingers around him through the thin fabric. Before he lost control, he pulled her hand to his chest, placing her palm over his heart. ‘Can you feel the pounding of my heart? I don’t just desire you. I lust for you.’
‘Then—’
He didn’t know whether to laugh or rage at himself. He’d started this, so his building frustration, and hers, was his fault for trying to distract her with teasing. ‘Woman, you have not the strength to stand on your own two feet, or even sit upright on a bench. I may be a black-hearted knave, but I am not low enough to take advantage of a woman in such a manner. No. Not tonight.’
She sniffled against his chest. ‘Now what are you crying about?’
Of course losing his patience only made her sniffle more. Richard released her hand to grip the edge of the tub, fighting to get himself under control. He closed his eyes tightly and breathed.
Once he was certain he could talk, move, think without wanting to either lose his temper, or satisfy baser urges, he wrapped her in a tight embrace. ‘I’m sorry. Tell me, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She wiped at her nose.
Richard stretched an arm over the edge of the tub, reaching for one of the towels. Using the corner of it, he ran it over her face. ‘No. Come on, tell me.’
‘You’ll think me foolish.’
‘Probably.’
‘You are not a black-hearted knave.’ Her sniffs had turned to earnest cries. ‘You are the kindest, most gentle man I know.’
Richard was...speechless...and not a little bit frightened. Kindest? Gentle? She thought him kind? And gentle? He’d gone too far with this helping her feel better. He should have left her in the capable hands of Marguerite and Hattie.
Now, instead of seeing him as the brute who’d kidnapped her, forced her to wed him and plotted to kill her former betrothed, she saw him as kind and gentle? That did not bode well for the future.
He needed to disabuse her of that notion before she did something truly foolish.
‘Isabella...’ He cleared his throat and began again, ‘Isabella, listen to me. The wine and herbs are making you imagine things are different than what they are. Nothing has changed here. You are still bait to draw Glenforde out and he will still die by my hand. There isn’t anything about me or my motives that you could consider kind, or gentle.’
He waited for her to say something—anything to show him that she understood.
She rubbed her fingertips across his shoulder. He felt her mouth
working against his chest as if she were mulling over his words and debating how to respond. Finally, she sighed softly, then asked, ‘I am never going to have the kind of love my parents share, am I?’
She confirmed his worst fears. This tenderness he had shown her made her long for things that he would never be able to give her. He couldn’t lie, he wouldn’t lie to her. That would be unfair and would only lead to broken false promises down the road. He knew the type of pain that created and he wasn’t going to be the one who caused her to suffer like that. ‘I am sorry, but, no.’
She pushed against his chest and sat up to grasp the edge of the tub. He watched her struggle to rise before she let her arms fall to her sides. ‘I want to go to bed.’
Richard swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat. He hadn’t wanted this night to end this way, but there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to ease the disappointment she now felt.
He rose from the water, pulling her up with him. It was better this way. The hurt she felt now was minor compared to what it would feel like later if he had lied and led her to believe there was hope for some grand love in their future. Perhaps eventually she would learn that love was a myth, or something couples envisioned in their minds, and she would come to accept a comfortable companionship as something worthwhile.
For now, however, he didn’t want to argue with her or fight over this. She was weak and not herself, it wouldn’t be fair.
He stepped out of the water and quickly wrapped her in an oversized drying cloth before sitting her down on the stool next to the tub, so she could hold on to the edge if need be.
Briskly rubbing another towel over her limbs and hair, he dried her off, then unwrapped the cloth strips binding her ankle. Marguerite could replace them shortly.
He took a towel to his own body and once he’d squeezed as much water as possible from his braies, he reached for his clothes.
‘What are you doing?’
Confused, Richard left the clothes on the floor and turned to look at her. She leaned against the tub, staring at him.
‘I’m going to get dressed, tuck you in bed and leave. I’ll send Marguerite or Hattie up to stay with you.’
Isabella shook her head. ‘No.’
‘What do you mean, no?’
‘You are coming to bed with me.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me.’
Richard rubbed the towel over his head, trying to give himself enough time to figure out what thoughts were running around in her mind. ‘Don’t you think we’ve gone beyond repairing this night?’
She pushed herself to her feet, still gripping the tub, and let the towel fall. She closed her eyes for half a heartbeat and then stared at him hard. ‘My lord husband, you have sentenced me to a loveless marriage, with no chance of escape. Since you saw fit to wed me and confine me to this island, I have no options before me but to accept that as my life, as my future. But I will not live without someone to love and cherish. And since it will not be you, then you owe me someone as a replacement.’
He dropped his towel to the floor and crossed his arms against his chest. ‘A replacement?’
‘I want a child.’
‘A child?’ He studied her face. She was still a little pale, but her gaze seemed totally focused—on him.
‘Yes. You owe me at least that much.’
‘I owe you?’
Her cheeks blazed with colour. ‘You have taken everything from me and now, even my future.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I demand my marital rights as your wife.’
He clenched his teeth together to keep his jaw from falling open. Not certain he could speak without sputtering, he asked, ‘You demand?’
She tilted her head slightly to the side and lifted one finely arched brow. ‘Did you lie?’ She stroked a hand down the curve of one hip. ‘Is my skin not soft and pliable beneath your touch?’
Her hand slowly roamed up over her stomach and ribs to cup a breast. Keeping her stare locked on his, she brushed her thumb across the peaked nipple. ‘Do you not find these enticing?’
She stroked a trail to her parted lips to trace them with a fingertip. ‘Do you not enjoy my lips against yours, or the taste of my kiss?
‘You do not want my heart, or my love. So be it.’ Isabella leaned a hip against the tub and spread both arms wide. ‘Does that mean you want nothing? Not any part of me?’
He’d thought her a quick learner. She was obviously far more than that. She’d taken his few lessons and created an entire curriculum on seduction.
God forgive him, but in her anger, her hurt, her rage, she was breathtaking. Her boldness captivated him. Her demand stole his mind. Oh, yes, he wanted her. And if she couldn’t see the proof of that standing out before him, then she was blind.
He freed his tongue from the roof of his suddenly dry mouth, to warn, ‘This will change nothing between us.’
‘It will change everything. I will be your wife in more than just name.’
He took one step towards her. ‘If I take you to that bed, there will be no turning back.’
‘I may hate you at this moment, but, Richard, I burn for your touch.’
That declaration grabbed hold of his lingering reservations about her being weak and tossed them out the window. He peeled the still-damp fabric from his body, cleared the distance between them in two steps, swept her into his arms and, without breaking stride, placed her on the bed.
He released her, intending to stretch out by her side, but she dug her fingernails into his shoulders and pulled him down on top of her. ‘Don’t try to be nice. Don’t think to make me swoon and forget what is truly happening here. I don’t want your love play, Richard, it’s a lie. I just want your child.’
Oh, no. No. He wasn’t going to play this sort of game with her. She wasn’t some cheap whore that he was going to use to gain his release and then toss aside. Regardless of anything else, she was his wife and he wasn’t about to spend a lifetime not taking full advantage of what pleasures could be shared with her.
He shrugged out of her grasp and grabbed her hands, pinning them to the bed. ‘I’ll give you the child you so desire, but we’re doing this my way, not yours. Do you understand me?’
When she nodded, he released her hands. He knew she was nervous, it would have been odd for her not to be. And he knew just how to distract her from her worries.
His lips against her ear, he whispered, ‘I told you once that you’d have to beg me for this. Are you ready to beg, Isabella?’ He drew out her name intentionally, knowing how it made her shiver.
‘I’m not going to beg.’
‘Ah, and there’s that challenge again.’
Isabella closed her eyes, wondering if she had made a mistake—a huge mistake, one that was too late to correct.
He brushed his lips across hers, running his tongue along the seam before delving inside to sweep her into his kiss. This is what she’d wanted to avoid, this mind-robbing wave of pleasure that she was unable to resist.
She raised her arms to wrap him in her embrace, and he broke their kiss, to sharply order, ‘No. Don’t.’
When she dropped them back to the bed, he once again stole her breath with a kiss. The moment she thought she would drown, he trailed his lips to the soft spot where her neck met her shoulder, kissing, sucking the sensitive skin until her toes curled.
His low husky laugh should have been a warning, but when he eased down her body to cup a breast, then tease the tip with his tongue before closing his warm mouth around it, her breath caught on a gasp of surprise.
While he gave full attention to one breast with his mouth, his hand sought the other. Isabella clamped her lips tightly together to hold back a moan of pleasure as her pulse quickened and the need he was so artfully building rippled down her stomach. The
need grew warmer, hotter, spreading until she swore she could feel her heart beating low in her belly, coaxing her moan to escape.
A deeper laugh made her wonder what pleasure-filled torture he intended to inflict now in his quest to make her beg. She was uncertain she’d be able to withstand much more.
Keeping a hand on one breast, he stroked the other along her side and over her hip as he eased further down her body until he manoeuvred his shoulders beneath her thighs.
She held her breath, her legs hooked over his shoulders trembling, uncertain what to expect.
He caressed her breast one more time before sliding his hand to her stomach, resting his palm flat against her as if to hold her in place. ‘Breathe, Isabella.’
She sighed, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart, and took a breath. Only to have it catch in her chest at a kiss so intimate she thought at first she was imagining the rush of wonder and unadulterated lust-filled need washing over her.
This is what riding a white-capped wave would feel like. She was certain of it. Weightless, having no control as the strength of the water carried her up, then cresting, pulling away to let her fall breathlessly before once again catching her to push her towards another crest. Isabella curled her fingers into the covers beneath her.
He paused, slowing his onslaught, and she fought to catch her breath. The moment her shaking legs stilled, he renewed his relentless need to break her, to hear her beg as he’d promised she would. Isabella closed her eyes, knowing he was right and that soon she’d not be able to stop herself from crying out mindlessly, begging him to fulfil her.
The exquisite stroking, circling of his tongue against her fevered flesh had her panting, gasping for each breath. Her belly contracted and when the crashing wave carried her higher and higher her body tensed, then pulsed madly around the touch of his finger inside her.
Isabella released the covers and reached for his shoulders, crying out, ‘Richard, please, I beg of you.’
Before she could finish her cry, he was over her, angling her hips with one hand beneath her as he eased himself into her.
She moaned at his gentleness, wanting more, needing more, and pushed her hips harder against his.