“Your nipples seem to be sufficiently serviced, ma’am,” he said. “Would you like me to do anything else for you?”
“Yes, I would,” said Isobel. “Take off your shirt.”
Francis raised his eyebrows, but responded promptly, unbuttoning the placket of his shirt and raising it over his head, dropping it by his coat. Isobel watched with pleasure, and as he did so, she raised her hands, almost without thought, to her breasts, gently massaging her nipples, so they stayed hard and pink.
Francis looked at her, his interest obviously piqued. Isobel glanced down to see that his erection bulged against his knitted breeches, and she reached down with one hand and grasped it firmly.
“I think we should put this to use, don’t you?” she asked softly.
“If you would like to,” he said, his voice neutral. Isobel slid her hand up his abdomen and across his chest, her fingers feathering lightly across his nipples.
“I think I would enjoy that,” she said. “But I am still very warm. You may take my dress off me.”
“As you wish,” he responded. Gently, but swiftly, he undid the rest of the fastenings of her gown, sliding it down over her hips, where it pooled on the floor. He eyed her appreciatively as she stood before him, wearing nothing but her slippers and silk stockings. Isobel leveled her chin and looked back at him, then ran her hands over her breasts, across her stomach, and down to her hips.
“Do you like what you see?” she asked.
“Very much,” he answered.
She placed one hand delicately on his stomach, and then slid it down to the waistband of his trousers. “Perhaps you should take these off,” she said. “They’re in the way.”
“Gladly,” he said. Quickly he divested himself of his shoes and breeches, and stood before her, completely naked, his erect penis jutting out in front of him. Isobel felt a vague sense of annoyance that he seemed so very comfortable in this state, as though he had done this with hundreds of women before her. She paused, suddenly hesitant.
Francis eyed her, noting her sudden withdrawal, then took her hand in his and placed it on his staff. “This is yours,” he said softly. “What would you like to do with it?”
Isobel stroked it gently, mesmerized both by its velvety softness and the promise its hardness offered her. Without thinking, she dropped quickly to her knees and took the tip of it in her mouth, her tongue swirling gently around it, suckling it softly.
Francis gave a groan of satisfaction, and she glanced up swiftly, a brief flash of victory in her eyes. Slowly, she took more of him into her mouth as he reached down with his hands to steady her head, urging her to take more of him. He grew even harder and longer, and soon he felt the tip of his rod against the back of her throat as she ate at him greedily, making tiny noises of satisfaction.
“God, Isobel,” he gasped, his fingers tightening on her head. “Please, let me go, or I cannot be responsible—“
She shook her head briefly and continued, lapping and sucking, reaching up with her hands to grasp his buttocks, stroking and kneading them until he came violently, ejaculating into her warm and welcoming mouth. She swallowed, enjoying the taste and smell of him, his life force that she could take inside her this way, if no other.
Slowly she released him, licking her lips and looking up at him slyly, sensing that she had surprised and pleased him. He shook his head, attempting to come back to reality.
“That was amazing,” he said, his voice ragged.
Isobel stood, and ran one hand through his hair, while the other firmly grasped his penis, now much less imposing. “Now you need to amaze me,” she said. “I still have need of you.” Using all the things she had learned from him in the last months she stroked and teased him, raining tender kisses across his chest, until he was once again hard and ready in her hand.
‘Magnificent,” she said, running her finger down his length. She reached between his legs and cupped his balls, stroking them gently.
“What do you want now?” he asked, his voice very gentle. “I hope you want me to put this inside you and make you come until you want to scream, because that is what I intend to do.”
Isobel smiled widely. "That sounds perfect,” she said.
He took her hand and led her to one of the pink velvet chairs. Seating himself in it, he grasped her around her waist, and lifted her into his lap. Her breasts swung invitingly in front of his face and he leaned forward, catching one nipple between his teeth and biting down gently. She gave a gasp of excitement.
“You like that, don’t you?” he said. “I think you will like this as well.” He grasped her hips and raised her, pausing for one brief second to position her over his hardness, and then lowered her until he was crammed into her to the hilt. She shuddered at the sensation, then slowly regained her composure, grinding against his pelvis, seeking even greater contact.
“I do like this,” she said. “Very much. Thank you.” Placing her hands on his shoulders, she raised herself slowly until only the very tip of his rod was embedded in her, then she lowered herself again, her muscles clenching at him tightly. “You’re so large,” she gasped. “I love to feel you inside me. It is so…so…”
“Satisfying?” he asked, his fingers grasping her hips, his mouth reaching for and capturing one breast.
“Mmmm,” Isobel answered. She took one hand from his shoulder and steadied the breast, pushing it towards his mouth, aching for his touch. She continued to raise and lower herself, setting up a steady rhythm that grew to match her heartbeat, until finally she felt the first stirrings of her climax.
“Francis!” she cried as the sensation built, the tiny flutter becoming an all consuming flame, not caring who in the cottage heard her.
“Stop, Isobel,” he gasped, seeking to raise her off him as his own climax threatened to come over him. Isobel resisted him, grinding her body into his, fighting him with her full weight.
“No,” she gasped. “No, stay inside me.”
“Isobel, no,” he said. “You mustn’t—“
Arching her back, she reached behind her and grabbed his silken sac, rolling it between her fingers as she felt herself begin to go over the edge. With a sense of triumph she felt him join her, pouring himself into her as he muffled a shout of ecstasy into her shoulder.
The strength of her climax left Isobel limp and wordless. Lord Francis too, fell silent, his arms wrapping her tightly to him. But after a few moments, reality intruded, and she looked at him in alarm.
“Oh no, I shouldn’t have forgotten myself like that,” she whispered. “What if, what if--” she paused, unwilling to go on.
“What if you get with child?” he asked calmly.
“Oh, it doesn’t bear thinking of,” she replied in an agitated tone.
“Well, it must be thought of, my sweet,” he answered reasonably. “But what do you fear? I have already expressed my willingness to wed you. We can get a special license and be married quietly as soon as you like. Or,” he added mischievously, “I can marry you over the anvil, without the inconvenience of an elopement, as we are already in Scotland.”
“That is why I don’t wish to think of it. As you know, I have no desire or need to be married,” Isobel declared. “Fortunately, I brought pennyroyal tea with me from England to drink until the last time my courses came on, and I have enough leaves left to use until I dry more from the garden here.”
Francis looked at her, wondering if he should urge marriage more strongly, but the obstinate look on Isobel’s face told its own tale, and he remained silent. He lifted her chin gently, and tenderly kissed the lips still swollen from his kisses.
“If need be, you will let me know,” he said firmly.
Then he stood, lifting her in his arms as he rose, and setting her on the chair. He walked to the pool of fabric that was her dress, and brought it back to the chair.
“Raise your arms, darling,” he murmured. Isobel obeyed, and he gently dropped the dress over her head. Isobel pulled the bodice down as he
fastened the tapes behind her neck. As she rose and straightened her gown, Francis dressed himself, and soon they stood at the door, fully clothed. Francis picked up the roll of drawings and looked down at Isobel.
“I’ll see myself out,” he said.
He lifted her chin, and kissed her tenderly once again, then departed. Isobel gazed thoughtfully after him, and then rang the bell to ask for a pot of hot water so she could make her favorite tisane.
Chapter 28
Lord Francis left the cottage, feeling quite pleased with himself. The folly not only allowed him to spend a great deal of time in Isobel's company, with opportunities for privacy such as the one they had just shared, but he had also been able to confirm his suspicion that she was hiding something from him. Although he was reasonably certain of what it might be, he could not resist teasing her on the subject. The coins rattling in his pocket made him smile; Alexander Paley would doubtless be surprised when they arrived.
Plans progressed quickly for the folly, due primarily to Lord Francis' great enthusiasm for the project. He became an almost constant presence at Dargenwater Cottage, showing up every day with drawings and plans, requesting the favor of Miss Paley's advice on the matter of the correct placement of the columns or the ornamentation of the doorway. Isobel soon learned that if she wished to have any time at all for her research, it was necessary to set a firm time at which to meet with Lord Francis at Glencairn each day.
Thus a fair day in July found her on the banks of Glencairn's ornamental lake, watching as her creation took form. It was in the shape of a miniature Roman temple of gleaming white marble. Determined to design a building properly reflecting the ideals of the Romans, Isobel had spent any number of evenings studying books on Roman architecture and researching the exact proportions of those structures. She had carefully applied this information to her design in order to insure that exquisite harmony of design that marked the greatest of antique temples. A small dome would surmount the entire structure, reflecting the summer sun and the sparkle of winter snows. She was pleased with her work, feeling that Glencairn's ambition and deep pockets and Lord Francis' assiduous attention to the execution of her ideas had resulted in a structure that far exceeded her previous work at Grosbridge.
Lord Francis joined her as she watched the workmen laboring. "It is a fair building, I believe, Miss Paley," he said. "You have surpassed the expectations I had formed from your description of your limited exposure to Roman architecture. This building bids fair to be less a gentleman's folly and more an accurate, though small, recreation of a Roman building."
Isobel smiled at him. His compliment was welcome, and she regretted that she could not accept it without a disclaimer.
"Thank you, my lord," she said. "But I fear that if the building is true to Roman ideals the credit must be placed largely at the feet of Lady Luck, and not at mine. I did some small reading on Roman temples of an evening, and what little I could understand I attempted to put to use. If the result is pleasing, then I must put it down to simple good sense."
Lord Francis bowed. "I must take you at your word, for I know you to be a truthful woman, and yet I find the mathematics of this building to be extraordinary. The spacing of the columns is so exact as to be quite remarkable, and I have found that they correspond closely to the placement of the columns of the much admired Maison Carrée."
"That is one of the temples mentioned in the book I perused," said Isobel. "I fear I must admit to some little plagiarism. You have found me out, Lord Francis."
"I would not call it plagiarism," said Lord Francis. "Looking at the plans I see that while the mathematics of the original Roman structures have been retained, there is a sense of airiness about the structure that belies the heaviness of so much Roman work. I believe that you have put much of yourself into this folly, Miss Paley."
"Well, I should be sorry if Lord Glencairn's trust was not repaid with a handsome structure, Lord Francis," said Isobel. "I hope I have not failed him."
"Not at all," said Lord Francis. "The design is excellent in plan, and as I watch it rise, I believe that it will be as charming when built. Come, allow me to escort you down to the site and you may observe the fruits of your labor more closely."
They walked down from the small rise on which Isobel had been standing in order to better view the work and approached the folly. The walls were rising, and the general shape of the building was becoming apparent. Isobel felt a rush of pleasure at the sight; she was beginning to feel quite proprietary about the building, and almost regretted that she did not own it herself. Perhaps she could find a site at Kitswold, she mused, which might benefit from such a structure.
The workmen barely spared a glance for Isobel and Lord Francis; many of them were familiar to her, as they spent the mornings at her digging site, but she refrained from greeting them and they did not approach her.
"I trust you are not uncomfortable being in such close proximity to the laborers," said Lord Francis. "They are all of them good men and they are grateful for this work."
"I am sure that they are," said Isobel, "and I am not annoyed by the proximity of laborers."
"Indeed, you seem quite comfortable," said Lord Francis. "One might almost expect that you had had experience supervising workers before."
"I do manage my estate myself," observed Isobel. "And while I do not go directly into the field, I have an understanding of the work done there."
Lord Francis bowed. "A most useful knowledge, I am sure," he said.
Isobel sighed. Lord Francis' manner was beginning to wear on her; over the last few weeks she had received the distinct impression that he did not believe the explanations she offered him to excuse her rather excessive knowledge of Roman antiquities. That they were merely excuses designed to hide her real accomplishments did not stop her from feeling annoyed with him. She decided to address the issue directly, in the hope he would put aside his ideas once and for all.
"Lord Francis, you have been speaking to me in such a way that would imply you do not believe what I am telling you,” she said. “Do you harbor some belief that I have abilities which I have not revealed to you?"
He turned to look at her, surprise in his eyes. "How ill-mannered you must think me, Miss Paley. I am sorry if I have given the impression that I suspect you of not being honest with me."
"You are never ill-mannered, Lord Francis," said Isobel with some asperity, for it almost seemed to her that poor manners would be preferable to his attitude of knowing something about her that others might despise. "But you do seem to harbor some idea that I am not being completely honest with you."
"If I felt that way, it would be extremely unkind of me to let you know," said Lord Francis. "And I must say that I hope that you would feel able to share with me any unusual accomplishments; I feel sure you are aware of the great esteem in which I hold you, and you must know that I would never betray any secrets which you wished me to keep."
This last statement was delivered in such a sincere tone, that Isobel's heart jumped. She looked up to see Lord Francis' gray eyes fixed on her, his face wiped clean of its usual expression of bland good humor.
"Whatever can you mean, my lord?" she asked. "I am not keeping any secrets; I believe my style of living is known to all the world."
"Yes, one hears much of the wit and beauty of Miss Isobel Paley," agreed Lord Francis. "I merely wished to assure you that if you did ever wish to confide in me about matters over which others might be censorious, I may surprise you with my understanding."
Isobel looked at the ground, unwilling to meet his eyes. It was clear to her that this was her opportunity to share with Lord Francis the truth of her scholarly work. Yet she could not help fearing that he would dismiss her pretensions with a laugh, or even scorn her for them. Lord Francis was a gentleman of the ton who enjoyed dancing and driving his horses and gambling with his friends. If he was also intelligent and kind, that was hardly enough of a reason to trust him with such a disreputable secret. She man
aged a laugh.
"If I ever need a confidant for my dreadful secrets, and neither Harriet nor Letitia are available, I assure you I will think of you, Lord Francis," she said. "However, at this time I can think of nothing which I need to hide."
Lord Francis bowed, his face losing its intent look and the question dying from his eyes. Isobel imagined that perhaps she saw disappointment in them now, and hastily repressed the thought. Never before had she been made to feel guilty for not revealing her secret. She found the sensation extremely uncomfortable, and did not wish to explore it further.
Lord Francis led her away from the worksite and proposed a stroll in the gardens, to which she assented eagerly. The flowers and statuary were less likely to inspire awkward topics of conversation than was the folly. As they strolled it seemed to Isobel that Lord Francis was distracted, for though his conversation was all that was proper, his interest did not seem to be fully engaged.
Lord Francis had good reason for being less than engaged in his conversation with Miss Paley. There rested in the pocket of his coat a letter from his secretary that informed him that the long and tedious search he had launched for Marcus Paley led inevitably to the conclusion that, whoever Marcus Paley was, he was not Alexander Paley. Exhaustive questioning of scholars and workmen and publishers had revealed that the gentleman in question lived in the Cotswolds, not at Balliol College, and that Alexander Paley had never displayed the slightest interest in Roman antiquities in Britain. Lord Francis had little doubt that he now escorted Mr. Marcus Paley through the gardens of Glencairn Castle, and he could only feel a sense of disappointment that his companion could not confide in him her secret.
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 23