As he emerged from the building he saw, just off to his right, the veiled lady, pausing as though uncertain of her surroundings. Lord Francis walked toward her, smiling.
"Thank you for coming," he said, commendably hiding his surprise that she had indeed arrived. "Please come inside." He took her elbow gently in his hand and steered her towards the entrance.
Nothing was said as they walked to the door of the Horace Worth’s rooms, but when Lord Francis had escorted her inside and helped her to remove the bonnet and veil, an expression of mixed defiance and anxiety was revealed on Isobel’s lovely face. Although he had made preparations, he had not seriously thought that they would be needed, and he now gazed at Isobel with some surprise, almost as though he had expected to find a stranger under the veil.
"Miss Paley!" he exclaimed, somewhat redundantly.
"Were you expecting someone else?" Isobel strove to keep her voice steady. She had no wish for him to guess that she had so nearly turned and left.
"Not at all," said Lord Francis. "I am delighted that you are here."
The two of them gazed at one another as the silence between them lengthened. Finally, Lord Francis filled the breach.
"Please, make yourself comfortable," he said, taking her elbow in his hand and leading her to the settee. "Would you care for some refreshments?"
Isobel seated herself gingerly. "No, thank you," she said primly. She had not been at all sure of what to expect; she had had some dim expectations that he might immediately take her in his arms and ravish her. She had certainly not planned on refreshments or conversation, and, unusually for Isobel, had no idea what to say.
Lord Francis eyed her for a moment. She looked lovely, he thought, her auburn hair glinting in the muted light, her well cut spencer revealing the curves of her figure. He felt a stirring in his body at the thought of why she was there. He strode across the room and poured himself a glass of brandy. Taking a gulp, he refilled the glass and returned to seat himself across from her.
Isobel looked around. "Are these your rooms?" she asked. "I thought you were living at Strancaster House."
"They belong to a friend of mine," said Lord Francis. When Isobel’s eyes widened in alarm, he raised a hand. "Don’t fret, he is not in London," he assured her. "We are all alone and will be so for as long as we choose."
"I only have a few hours," she said hastily. "Harriet expects me home to go for a drive in the park, and we will attend the Opera tonight."
"What a delightful program," said Lord Francis. "I believe a few hours will be fine. We must not keep Miss Walcott waiting. I believe that I can show you enough in that time that you will be anxious to return."
"Return?" echoed Isobel.
"An affaire implies multiple meetings, does it not?" asked Lord Francis blandly. "Unless you find me unsatisfactory, of course. But I hope you will not. No one else has ever expressed disappointment." He allowed his eyes to rake over her, hoping faintly that these rather coarse sentiments would put her off. "And I’m sure you won’t disappoint me."
"Oh, yes, of course," agreed Isobel. "Of course there will be multiple meetings."
Lord Francis smiled to see her so flustered, and sat back in his chair, sure that he had sufficiently shocked her, and waiting for her explanation as to why she must suddenly leave. "I’m overjoyed," he said.
Isobel dropped her eyes, wondering when Lord Francis might approach her. She thought he should perhaps be sitting next to her, rather than across from her, staring at her in that strange way. "Shall we begin?" she asked abruptly.
Lord Francis choked on his brandy, but hastily recovered himself. "Begin?" he asked.
"Yes, begin," said Isobel. "With the—with the—I’m sure you know what I mean."
Lord Francis put his glass down on a small table. "Are you sure, Miss Paley, that you wish to do this?" he asked.
Isobel hesitated, thinking for a moment of beating a hasty retreat. But then Lord Francis would know that she was both nervous and inexperienced. She had thrown down the gauntlet, and he had picked it up. She would not back down now. Gazing at him across from her, his shining hair framing his face, as handsome as a Greek statue’s, his muscled arms outlined by his well-cut coat, she reflected that she was not at all sure she wanted to.
"Of course I wish to do this," she replied. "Miss Wollstonecraft said that the world imposes ‘on women, more from a sense of propriety, more out of respect for decorum than reason,’ and I completely agree. I am capable of making my own decisions, Lord Francis, and taking care of myself."
"What if I were to tell you that you should not do this, that a lady of your birth and breeding could ruin herself by this behavior?" he asked. "If anyone had seen you come here, they would have suspected the worst."
Isobel smiled triumphantly. Now, she felt sure, she had the upper hand. "You seem uncertain; do you wish to cry off, Lord Francis?" she asked. "I had not thought you to be so frightened of the gossips, but if you are uncomfortable, I will not press you."
He shook his head, his pride pricked. "Quite the reverse, Miss Paley. I am more than eager to satisfy your curiosity. I merely needed to be sure that you did not wish to cry off. After all, it is your reputation that is at stake."
"Not at all," she said. They stared at each other for a moment, neither willing to give way. "Perhaps I will have a glass of brandy after all," she said.
Lord Francis raised his eyebrows, but stood, glad of having a reason to move about, and fetched it for her. Picking up his own glass as he crossed the room, he took a gulp from it, and seated himself next to her on the settee.
Isobel took a nervous sip of her drink, and almost choked at the strength of the liquor, which she had not previously sampled. Her eyes watered slightly, but, exercising iron control over herself, she defiantly took another swallow. She was very aware of his thigh only inches from her own. "It was clever of you to find this place," she said. "These rooms seem to be very comfortable."
"They are," said Lord Francis. He watched her dark lashes flutter over her eyes, as the memories of their kisses flooded through him. He again felt the tug of desire threatening to overwhelm his common sense. "The bed is very comfortable, too."
Isobel started slightly, and then took another drink of brandy. "How fortunate," she said, regaining her composure.
"Ah, yes, I forgot that you have had previous experience in this area," said Lord Francis.
"I have?" said Isobel. "Oh, yes, I have," she continued, recalling that she had allowed him to believe he was not the first gentleman with whom she had conducted an affaire.
Unable to resist, Francis raised one hand and ran a finger lightly across her shoulder where it was bared by the wide neckline of her gown. Perhaps Isobel only needed to realize more fully what she had gotten herself into, he thought. He had few doubts that she was untouched, and was merely putting up a brave front. If he convinced her that he would proceed, she would doubtless flee.
Isobel quivered slightly at the touch, and took another sip of brandy. She was finding it to be far less objectionable than she had at first thought. Lord Francis gently took the glass out of her hand, depositing both of their drinks on a table. Then he took her shoulders in his hands and turned her towards him. Placing one long finger under her chin, he turned her face up towards his.
"Then I need have no worries," he said.
He waited a moment to see if she would tell him the truth, but instead Isobel only gazed at him with her wide green eyes. Slowly he lowered his head to hers, brushing his lips very lightly across her cheekbone, then sliding down to her lips in a delicate kiss. She gave a sigh at the contact, as the tension between them seemed to both fade away and build to greater heights. She leaned towards him, seeking greater stimulation, opening her lips for him.
"You’re very eager," whispered Francis, not sure if he was pleased or perturbed. She was supposed to withdraw from him, not respond so delightfully. He was finding it difficult to rein in his desire for her. The full realization o
f their situation hit him; Isobel was alone with him, apparently fully expecting him to make love to her. He felt himself harden, and he muttered a curse.
Isobel pulled back. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No, nothing is wrong," said Lord Francis. "You are delightful." He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and drew her to him. Perhaps, he reasoned, if he went a little farther, she would then realize the full extent of her folly. He placed his lips on hers again, this time fiercely, meaning to illustrate to her that she was playing with fire.
But Isobel only responded by kissing him back with equal passion. Before many moments had passed, Lord Francis realized that he had pushed her gently down on the settee, and his body was covering hers as their mouths clung to each other’s, their tongues clashing in a delightful dance. He gave a ragged groan.
"Miss Paley, are you sure—" he began, but Isobel reached up and took his face in her hands, pulling him down to her again. Her eyes were dark with passion, the golden lights in the green shining brightly. She realized dimly that she had probably pushed this little charade too far, that it would have been far better if she had taken one of the countless opportunities he had given her to leave. But his kisses were so enticing, that she was determined to discover what might happen next.
She allowed her own lips to move from his to drift across his cheek and nip at his ear as she somewhat awkwardly attempted to loosen his neckcloth. After a few seconds of fumbling, she felt him pull away for a moment, then his strong fingers brushed hers away, as he pulled the offending piece of cloth loose. Isobel then helped him peel back his coat, and soon she was able to run her hands down Francis’ muscular chest, feeling the beat of his heart and warmth of his skin. She found herself unbuttoning his shirt, and reaching within, discovering the curly blonde hair inside, and the tight male nipples that crowned his pectoral muscles. She breathed in the bracing hint of citrus and sandalwood that lingered on his skin, and the smell of healthy male lying beneath it, then leaned forward to lick at one, feeling her craving for him rising.
Francis, groaned, "We should stop this now, my sweet," he said, but Isobel, whose suspicions that she had been missing out on something had been stoked by Francis’ previous kisses, was now certain that she had to know more. She ignored him and slid her hands further inside his shirt, caressing his back and pressing herself against his chest, while offering her lips to him in mute appeal.
Francis looked down at her, lips glistening from his previous kisses, face flushed with desire, and felt any scruples he had remaining vanish in the fire of his passion for her. He touched his lips to hers, seeking the hot, wet silk of her mouth, pressing her into the settee, as Isobel clasped him to her. He rolled slightly to one side, resting his weight on his elbow so that the other hand could slip down to the skirts of her dress, He lifted it by the handful until he could feel Isobel’s satiny thigh beneath his questing fingers. He stroked the tender skin, letting his hand slip upward to curve of her hip, and the even softer skin of her pelvis, then stroked over to the springy curls that covered her mons. Isobel gasped slightly at the intimate touch, and Francis took her lips again in a kiss that seemed to touch his soul, as he gently slipped a finger between her tender folds, to find the pearly moisture that was collecting there, while Isobel instinctively lifted her hips towards his seeking touch.
Dimly realizing that a settee was a decidedly less satisfactory location than the bed only steps from them, Francis attempted to draw away, but Isobel clutched him more tightly.
"No, no, don’t stop," she protested.
"I’m not sure I could stop if you wanted me to," he replied bluntly. "But I do think we will both be more comfortable if I take you to the bed only a few paces away." Lifting Isobel in his arms and reveling in the feeling of her warmth pressed to his bare chest, he kissed her as he carried her across the sitting room, and through the bedroom door. Seating her gently on the edge of the bed,, he untied the tapes of her dress, gently pushing the bodice down to expose her breasts. Briefly startled out of her haze and suddenly shy, Isobel raised her hands, but he pushed them away, leaning down to draw one rosy pink nipple into his mouth. As Isobel sighed her pleasure, Francis seated himself next to her, gently pushing her down onto the bed. He licked and sucked on her nipple until the tip grew long and hard between his lips, then applied the same tender treatment to her other breast. Isobel shuddered, swamped by the novel sensations, and the inchoate cravings gathering in her.
Francis, sensing her growing agitation, kissed her gently, his sensitive fingers fondling her breast. "Hush, darling, just let the pleasure build, I’ll take care of you. You’ll understand soon how wonderful this is." Slowly, exercising control as best he could, he again lifted her skirts, and allowed one hand to settle between her thighs, massaging her gently.
He dropped to his knees on the floor between her legs, gently parting her thighs. As he slid his hands up her legs, moving them apart, Francis felt his heart fill with an unanticipated tenderness, an emotion with which he had little experience. He wanted to make this kind, yet prickly, intelligent, yet earnest, clever yet passionate creature his own in a way that he had never felt before, and the thought gave him pause. Then, brushing aside his momentary confusion, he blew gently on the auburn curls that shielded the treasure that he sought, as his cock twitched urgently in response to her sighs. He spread the tender flesh, reveling in the sight of the glistening petals he exposed, and blew again, smiling at the involuntary fluttering response of her tissues. He ran a gentle finger over her as Isobel moaned then spread her legs wide, and pressed his lips to her.
Isobel shrieked, and struggled up onto her elbows. "What are you doing?" she cried.
Francis licked at her again, and felt her shiver in delight and then looked up, smiling teasingly. "Does that not give you pleasure?" He allowed a finger to slide gently inside her as he spoke.
"Yes, yes, it feels, it feels, aaaah, incredible," Isobel gasped, "But you shouldn’t--,"
"Shouldn’t what?" he asked mischievously, blowing on her again, as a second finger joined the first, seeking that special spot inside her, as he pressed gently on her pelvis, just above the auburn curls.
"Shouldn’t do that, "Isobel gasped.
"Unless you can summon the energy to tell me exactly what I should and should not do," Francis murmured, "I will carry on. Perhaps it would be best if you allowed me to take the lead."
As he took the opportunity just then to press his fingers upward inside her as he licked and then sucked on the sensitive bud nestled beneath her curls, Isobel suddenly found herself without the ability to protest further. Francis took advantage of the opportunity to grip her hips, and push her ivory thighs a few inches closer to the edge of the bed, propping her feet on his broad shoulders. He flexed his fingers inside her as he gently licked and sucked her sensitive flesh, and soon felt the tremors and clenching that indicated Isobel was nearing a climax.
Rising to his feet, he hastily removed his breeches, and then kissed and nibbled his way up her pelvis and torso, stopping to caress her breasts, licking them until the rosy aureoles puckered and the nipples were stiff.
"I think you might be ready for me now, my sweet," he whispered to her. Isobel, who felt as though she might perish of unsatisfied desire, said nothing, only reaching up to grip his shoulders, attempting to draw him towards her.
Francis laughed softly, and slid her over on the bed, settling himself beside her. He kissed her deeply, and Isobel tasted the unfamiliar flavor of herself on his lips, as his skilled tongue tangled with hers. He guided one of her hands to him, placing it over his throbbing erection.
" Are you ready for me, darling? " he asked softly lifting his lips from hers.
"I don’t see how I could possibly stand to be readier," answered Isobel, a hint of temper in her voice. The feel of the soft skin of his penis over its hot hardness entranced her as she stroked its firm length, her fingers just closing over his thickness. She stroked back and forth, until Fra
ncis laughed a bit and stayed her with his hand.
"Not too much, if you wish to be satisfied properly," he said.
As the thing Isobel felt most was a great craving to be filled by him, she opened her fingers obediently. Francis moved to kneel between her thighs, and Isobel’s widened as she saw, rather than merely felt, his size.
"Don’t worry," he said tenderly. "We will fit perfectly, my sweet. I know you can take all of me."
He once again slid two fingers into her drenched slit, and used them to moisten the plump head of his cock, then fitted himself to her. He bent down, and took Isobel’s lips, plunging his tongue into the smooth silk of her mouth, as he slowly slid into her. Her eyelids fluttered closed, as his heat and thickness filled her, the restless craving she had been experiencing replaced by a satisfying fullness. As Francis sank slowly into her until he filled her completely, only a tiny twinge of resistance betrayed her inexperience; no surprise in an active woman of three and twenty. He smiled nonetheless; her bravado had been just that, he thought, and he was glad that he was the first.
He pulled back, and then pushed into her again a little harder, and Isobel sighed, then moaned.
"More," she urged, and wrapped her long slim legs instinctively around his hips, drawing him closer.
Francis smiled and sank into her, lost in the heat of her body and the intensity of her embrace.
"Open your eyes," he whispered, and Isobel did, their green reminiscent of the forest in sunlight, he thought. They were hazy with lust and promise.
"Harder," whispered Isobel, her eyelids fluttering closed again, and he plunged into her, driving her up the bed as he sought to go that tiny fraction deeper. Feeling the tiny tremors increase as she began to find her satisfaction, he drove into her once more and joined her. As his powerful climax gripped him, he just barely remembered to pull out, and spilled his seed across her stomach.
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 16