With his other hand he undid the tapes at the back of her neck, and she felt the little cap sleeves of her dress slip down her arms, and then Francis’ smooth shaven chin nudging her low bodice down still further until her engorged and eager breast below was exposed. She pushed forward to his seeking mouth, almost sobbing in her eagerness to feel his lips and tongue on her hungry flesh.
"Shhh, darling," he whispered. "We must still be silent, unless you wish all of London to know of the pleasure we are taking."
He sucked her nipple into his mouth, lashing it sweetly with his tongue, alternating with gentle nips. Isobel sagged against him, as he moved to its twin, treating it to the same skilled stimulation. She felt the cool air on the moist tip of her breast, and it tightened even further. Francis brought a hand to it and caressed and tweaked her breast in time with his tongue. Isobel clutched at his lapels and wondered hazily how long she could stand upright.
Then she felt his hand slide between her thighs from behind, and a finger search for her creamy slit. "Ooh," she groaned, spreading her legs wider. "Francis, I don’t think I can remain standing much longer, I feel so –" her voice trailed off.
"I think the word you are looking for is excited," he responded.
He withdrew his hand and lifted his mouth from her breasts. "Come my darling," he said, and led her towards the bench. Instead of urging her down on it, he gently placed her hands against its back and then pressed against her from behind, his erection hard against her bottom.
"You can support yourself thus," he said, "and I will help you. I think you will like this, as I can get even deeper into your delicious slit from behind. Would you like that?"
As Isobel panted her approval, he nipped at the back of her neck, and kneaded her shoulders, then his hands slid around to cup her naked breasts, now fully exposed to the air. As he rolled her already stiff nipples between his fingers, Isobel moaned her pleasure, and felt them harden and lengthen even further. Lord Francis trailed his fingers down her ribs, returning to her back and lifting her skirts up onto her lower back. He took a moment to enjoy the delightfully saucy picture she presented, with her round, lush buttocks framed by the foaming eyelet flounces of her hem above, and her gartered silk stockings below. He ran his palms over the smooth globes, kissing the small of her back and nipping and sucking at the rosy flesh below. Isobel started in surprise at the stimulation, and then moaned again. She pushed her hips back still farther, seeking satiation. "Oh please, Francis," she murmured.
Lord Francis grinned and said, "Do you want more, my darling? Then spread your legs wider for me." Isobel complied willingly, and he slid a hand slowly down her buttocks, and slipped his fingers just between the lips of her cleft, feeling her already slippery with desire.
"You’re soaking, my sweet," he murmured. "Is it exciting for you to feel yourself so exposed, and with the possibility of discovery to heighten the experience? Sir Jason and Miss Brooks-Walsham could stroll in here at any moment, and they’d see you, half naked, with me servicing you."
Isobel gasped at the picture he created, but said nothing, as she leaned back, trying to draw his hand further in.
"Ah, you must answer the question," he continued, removing his questing fingers. Something about her eagerness both excited and bothered him.
"I don’t care if a hundred people see us, just don’t stop," she cried impatiently.
"Shhh, we are private, but not so private that it’s impossible for us to be heard," he admonished her.
"Please," she whispered.
Lord Francis smiled, and slid his fingers between her legs again, first rubbing against the sensitive bud sheltered there, then slipping two fingers inside her creamy channel to feel it clench hungrily around him. He sensed that the stimulation of the air on her skin and the possibility of being found out, along with his ministrations, had pushed her close to climax already. He slipped his fingers out of her and rubbed the moisture on them over the sensitive skin between her buttocks, as Isobel squirmed and squeaked slightly. Hastily unbuttoning his breeches, which now strained over his bulging erection, he grasped her hips firmly and slid very slowly into her drenched slit, letting her feel every inch of his length. He felt her clenching around him, and pulled back to plunge into her welcoming heat again. Isobel was nearly frantic to climax, and pushed back into his pelvis, grinding against him.
Lord Francis laughed softly. "I love knowing that under the tonnish lady the rest of the world sees, there is a wanton, eager for only me." He lifted her hips minutely so he could push in more deeply, and pulled her more firmly against himself.
Isobel felt as though she must melt from the heat of the moment and the sensation of his hard thickness impaling her so deeply. She clutched at the back of the bench, the stone cold under her fingers, and pushed back, rising up on her toes, seeking to give him greater access.
When Lord Francis reached forward to take her breasts in his hands, squeezing her nipples as he stroked deep and hard into her, he felt the ripples of her climax begin around him. He reached a hand up gently to cover her mouth, lest she forget and cry out, and then allowed himself to tip into ecstasy with her, withdrawing hastily at the last moment to pump his seed onto the small of his back.
For a few moments silence reigned, broken only by the song of a nearby by thrush, and the whisper of gently shifting leaves in the trees above. Lord Francis withdrew gently from her, and swiftly rebuttoned his breeches. He turned to Isobel, who sagged against the bench, overcome.
"Let me help you," he said, and, removing a fine linen handkerchief from his pocket, he gently passed it over her creamy labia, before wiping the small of her back. He turned to help her stand, drawing her to his chest and gently enfolding her with his arms. A warm, calm sensation of happiness washed over him as he held her in the tiny clearing, with its ancient moss, tiny pond, and air of peace. He tightened his arms and kissed her neck.
"That was--" he paused, at a loss for words. "That was beautiful," he said at last. "You are so sweet and exquisite."
Isobel fluttered in his arms, reality crashing in on her. She had no wish to think about, much less discuss, the emotions that had been raging through her only moments before. "Please, we must return to the others. We will be missed if we don’t hurry."
Lord Francis gave up the struggle to articulate his feelings, and released her to lift her bodice and tie its tapes, pausing only to kiss each breast one more time.
Isobel turned towards him, not meeting his eyes, and shook out her skirts. She raised her hands to her hair. "Do I look as though we have been, um--" she said anxiously.
"No, not at all," he reassured her with a smile. "That is one of the advantages of this position, there is no possibility of grass stains, and a lady’s hair remains pristine. I don’t think I need to inform you that the sensation is also very stimulating."
Isobel blushed, and busied herself brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from her dress. She wondered vaguely how often he had done something like this before. He seemed to be more than competent at planning impromptu trysts.
Chapter 23
Lord Francis offered her his arm, and they proceeded out to the path that wound its way back towards the lawn. Before they reached the lawn they met Lady Aglenbar, a good friend of Harriet’s, and her husband, and returned with them. Isobel was relieved to have their apparent chaperonage at the end of what had been an absence long enough to have been noticed.
Isobel saw Harriet seated at a table on the lawn and they strolled over to join her. As Isobel seated herself, Lord Francis went to procure lemonade.
"You have been absent a very long time, Isobel," said Harriet.
"I wanted to be alone for a few minutes and entered the wood, and then I met Eliza Brooks-Walshingham and Sir Jason Partney, and they would have it that I must walk with them. Then Lord Francis and I walked a bit and encountered the Aglenbars and now here I am," she replied.
Harriet looked surprised. "That is a remarkably thorough account of your m
ovements," she said. "Well, I am very glad to see you in company with Lord Francis again. You know my hopes, and—" Harriet stopped as an aging but elegant gentleman approached, and told her that a friend of hers wished her to join them in a brief walk to view the statuary garden. Harriet departed with alacrity, and Isobel sat a moment, immersed in memories of Lord Francis’ recent lovemaking, when he returned with the lemonade.
"Where is Miss Walcott?" he inquired as he sat down.
"She left for a stroll in the statuary garden," Isobel replied. A moment of comfortable silence opened between them.
"The Season is almost at an end. Will you go to Brighton for the summer?"
Isobel grimaced. "No, I do not find the Regent's set particularly amusing. I suppose that you will be there, however, since your years of hardship on the Peninsula must make a summer of frivolity very attractive, and so many of your friends will be in attendance."
"I had planned to spend some weeks there," replied Lord Francis, "My brother, Viscount Exencour, and his wife visit Brighton every summer to enjoy the sea air, which seems to be healthful for my brother’s constitution."
"During my first Season, I attended the Regent's great ball at Carlton House, as well as visiting Brighton over the summer months. I cannot say that either was an unalloyed pleasure."
Lord Francis laughed. "It is certainly true that many of Prinny's companions, as well as the Regent himself, are known to be a trifle warm in their doings. I recall a memorable evening at the Marine Pavilion when he insisted that all of the guests must see him shoot with an air‑gun at a target placed at the end of the room. In spite of being in his altitudes, his aim was amazingly true and he actually succeeded in hitting it."
In spite of her distaste for the Regent, Isobel had to join Lord Francis in a chuckle.
"How very absurd," she said. "This is precisely why I no longer choose to endure the heat, dust, and very dubious crowds of Brighton, and spend my summers in Scotland instead."
Lord Francis was still filled with the unaccountable lightness and happiness he had felt earlier during their walk and tryst. Her words punctured his mood, and unease began to seep into him.
"Is not my presence in Brighton sufficient to entice you?" he inquired.
Isobel looked at him quizzically. "I remove to Scotland every year, after the Season," she explained. "After all of the noise and bustle of London and the Season, I need the quiet and solitude for my –" she broke of, realizing she had almost said her studies, and then continued hastily. "The mist rising from the glens, the bloom of the gorse bushes, and the smell of new mown hay is the best refreshment for me."
Lord Francis, wondering what she had almost said, gazed into the distance. "I remember the smell of the haying at Strancaster when I was a boy," he reminisced. "My groom was the brother of one of the chief farmers of the district, and during haying he would take me out to help them in the fields. When I grew tired, the wife would give me fresh milk, and I would fall asleep under a tree. I suppose I cannot have been much assistance to them, but it was a great pleasure to me." His voice drifted off, and he felt the unease of a few moments before seeping away, and that feeling of completeness he found in Isobel’s company returning.
"Indeed," he heard Isobel say a bit tartly. "This would be why I don’t wish to spend the summer months walking on over-crowded, dusty promenades, and conversing in overheated ballrooms."
Lord Francis tried again. "I will find the absence of your company and the break in our charming connection very difficult indeed, Isobel," he said, leaning forward as if to clasp her hand.
Isobel looked about her in alarm, and withdrew minutely. "Lord Francis, we must take care not to draw the attention of others. Our secret must not be exposed by attention to me on your part that is too particular."
Lord Francis wished that he could tell all of London about their affaire, and drag Isobel to the nearest bishop with a special license. He attempted to relax and look as though he were merely another gentleman of fashion with no special interest in their conversation.
"If we are not to be in Brighton together, when do you think we may meet again?" he asked.
"Why, I suppose that it may be possible for us to encounter one another at one or two more social occasions, and perhaps to arrange a similar number of our pleasant private meetings before I must leave. After that, I suppose that it will be next spring, when we all return to London for the Season before we meet again." Isobel smiled calmly, although she felt a distinct chill at the picture her words presented. She had not thought of doing without Lord Francis’ company for some months, and she felt oddly empty at the prospect.
Lord Francis forgot to maintain his languid pose, and leaned forward sharply, "Next spring?" he echoed in a shocked voice. "I cannot imagine being parted from you for so long."
Isobel’s surprise at her own melancholy made her voice sharp. "Lord Francis, we are conducting a liaison," she whispered. "I am not married to you; we did not embark on this arrangement with the notion that we would live in one another’s pockets. You have never spoken to me of the summer before, and now, in one instant, you expect me to change the habit of years to run to Brighton to be with you. Surely you can see that this is unreasonable."
Lord Francis reflected savagely that if he had refused her a closer connection while enticing her with his kisses, she might now be ready to wed him. But, as he was clearly getting nowhere with his current line of questioning, he drew on his military background, and determined to change the course of the battle.
"Tell me about your property in Scotland," he said agreeably, "how long have you summered there?"
Isobel was so relieved at this change of subject that she allowed her jaw to unclench and her chest to relax.
"It was my father who first took me to Scotland of a summer, for he was quite interested in the mysterious Pictish runes that are to be found there," she said.
Lord Francis watched closely the change in her manner. "Your family appears to be quite scholarly." he replied. "My father has no such pretensions, but we did go to Scotland a few times when I was a youth for angling. I have memories of standing in freezing water up to my waist, fighting with fish who were quite determined not to be landed."
"There is much excellent fishing in Scotland, though, of course, I have never essayed it," said Isobel. "I must be content with rides through the beautiful countryside and--and tending to my gardens."
She almost regretted being unable to share with him her true purpose in Scotland; for the moment she found herself remarkably in charity with Lord Francis, who seemed to have once again dropped his possessive attitude, to be the comfortable companion she had known the last few weeks.
"I believe the Dargen River on the Earl of Glencairn’s lands is known as one of the best trout waters in the country. However, I must confess that I am no compleat angler, and the subtleties of Mr. Walton’s instructions were completely lost on me in those days. Perhaps now that I am older I will develop the patience required of those who wish to land the fish of their choice," commented Francis, with a significance completely lost on Isobel.
"You visited the Earl of Glencairn as a boy?" she replied in astonishment.
"Certainly, he is an old friend of my father’s, and we visited Glencairn on several occasions. However, the Scottish weather is not particularly healthful for my brother, Charles’ weak lungs and we did not go there when I grew older."
"What a very odd coincidence," said Isobel. "My house in Scotland is named Dargenwater, and Glencairn Castle is barely a mile from my property in Scotland. The Earl is a charming gentleman, though Harriet and I live very retired when we are there, so we see little of him. If you wish, I will remember you to him if we see him this summer."
"That would be very kind. Glencairn and my father correspond, but I have had no contact with him in years, though I was quite impressed by him as a lad. He had a magical touch with the tying of flies, and in the evening before we went out on the river Harry and I would watc
h him preparing them for the morning’s sport."
At that moment, Isobel noticed Harriet some yards away. Not wishing her to observe their intimate conversation, Isobel stood and extended her hand to him. "Thank you for a pleasant stroll, Lord Francis."
Lord Francis gazed into her large green eyes. "The pleasure was all mine, Miss Paley," he replied. The commonplace words were at great variance with the strong emotions he suddenly felt as he looked at her. It was borne in upon him forcibly that he felt much more for Isobel than he had previously realized, far beyond the physical pleasure that they both took in each other.
At the time of his proposal to her he had felt that she was a beautiful and charming woman who would make him a wholly appropriate wife, one who would complement his social position and would not be unpleasant to share a home with. Now he was suddenly aware that, if Miss Paley were to be removed from his life, there would be a hole at the center of his existence that could not be filled by another.
Isobel looked perplexed, as Lord Francis seemed to be hesitating over their goodbyes. His hand rose slightly from his side, as though he were about to take her hand again.
"I hope you have a delightful summer," she said, moving away from him.
Lord Francis pulled himself together and bowed. "I am sure I shall. Perhaps we will encounter one another again soon."
"You may contact me if we can arrange a time to meet, but it may be difficult as my departure from London is imminent. But I do look forward to seeing you again next spring, Lord Francis."
Isobel floated away in a cloud of green muslin. Lord Francis gazed after her, a confused expression on his face. He was distracted by the approach of Lady Castlemere and her daughter.
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 19