A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance

by Alicia Quigley

  The pair had wound their way back to the lake. Isobel stood gazing once more at the folly. "It is far lovelier than I had anticipated," she said. "Although I was at first reluctant to take on this task, I now must thank you, Lord Francis, for this commission. Perhaps I am an architect at heart!"

  "You are many things, Miss Paley," said Lord Francis. "Some of which are probably quite startling."

  Isobel turned her wide green eyes on him. "Whatever do you mean, Lord Francis?" she asked.

  "Merely that you are a lady of remarkable accomplishment," said Lord Francis, polite gallantry returning to his manner. "We must all admire a woman of such beauty and taste."

  "Thank you, sir," she replied. "And now, I must return to Dargenwater Cottage and speak with Cook. Harriet is out driving with Lord Glencairn this afternoon, and without one of us to guide the kitchen, dinner will surely be inedible. I will see you again tomorrow."

  Lord Francis merely bowed and kissed her hand. As Isobel turned her footsteps back towards Dargenwater Cottage, she found that her mind did not linger on its intended subject, the excavations at Ballydendargan, but instead returned to the contemplation of the conversation she had just had with Lord Francis. She could not imagine why she felt that she had wronged him, but the feeling persisted.

  "Nonsense," she said out loud. "I have nothing to regret!" With that, she turned her mind resolutely to diggings and dinner and proceeded on her way.

  Some time later, after addressing the issue of dinner, Isobel stood at the window of her sitting room, enjoying the sunlight and contemplating the lovely view of pine trees sheltered in the graceful slope of the hills. A letter had arrived from Letitia, and she broke the seal now, anxious to know how her friend was getting on.

  Dear Isobel,

  I am writing, as you made me promise to do, to reassure you that all is well with the children and with me. The Welsh countryside is beautiful at this time of the year, and we enjoy strolling on the grounds. Jamie has grown a great deal, and Emily has begun to walk; we are a happy threesome.

  Unfortunately, Alfred has not changed, but remains unreliable and has recently lost a vast sum at the tables. Even here, so far from London, he has found acquaintances to gamble with. I am very much afraid that we may lose the estate, which will be a great shame not only for Alfred, but also for Jamie. I do not like to think of him losing his inheritance for his father's mistakes.

  I have received a letter from Mr. Askworth; he regrets to inform me that my monies are not so arranged that I can benefit from them prior to Alfred's death. You must not be angry with him, for I am sure he did everything he could to be helpful, and indeed, he seems to be very sorry that my situation is so dire. So rather than Rome my home is to remain here in Wales for some time. I am sorry to be unable to leave Alfred, but I am not unhappy to be remaining in Britain. Rome is very far from my family and my good friends such as you. Thus, even in the evil there is some good to be found.

  I am sure that you are enjoying your time in Scotland and that your work is going well. Please give my love to Harriet. Alfred has told me that Lord Francis Wheaton is in the neighborhood of your estate. I trust that his affection for you remains strong and that you will respond in kind. I am sure that he would make you a good husband.

  I must go now; even on our encumbered lands there are things to be done. I look forward to your letters. Please do not worry about me, I am managing very well.

  Letitia

  Isobel folded the letter and stared out the window, this time unable to appreciate the fineness of the vista. She was glad to know Letitia and the children were well, but she could tell from the letter that, despite its cheerful tone, she was in considerable distress. Isobel wished fiercely that there were some way she could change Letitia's situation. But there was no legal solution for Letitia, and, as a woman, Isobel had no power to aid her. She knew Letitia would not accept money from her, and any money Isobel could send would do nothing to relieve the estates from their mortgages or stop Alfred from gambling or drinking. Letitia did not need new dresses or fine furniture; she needed to be freed from her husband.

  Isobel read the letter again. It made her smile to think that Letty, in the midst of her woes, had time to worry about Isobel's romantic entanglements. Lord Francis Wheaton a good husband, indeed. Then the words leapt off the page at her. "Alfred has told me that Lord Francis Wheaton is in the neighborhood of your estate." How did Alfred have such information? Was Francis such a good friend to Alfred that they corresponded? Had Francis told Alfred of his courtship of her? How amused Alfred must be, to think that the detested Isobel Paley might be snagged by one of his cronies. The thoughts ran in circles in her head; Lord Francis seemed to be a kind enough man, but his friendship with Lord Morgan spoke volumes against him. Isobel could not bear to think that perhaps they had discussed her or even shared a laugh at her expense.

  She pressed her hands to her temples, willing her thoughts to stop rushing so madly. She had no evidence that Lord Francis had ever discussed her with Lord Morgan; indeed, she had no proof that they corresponded. Still, it was odd that Alfred, immured in the wilds of Wales, should know this bit of gossip. She bit her lip. Perhaps she could find out from Letitia how Alfred had come by this information. She did not wish to be unfair to Lord Francis, but neither did she wish to find herself in the situation of consorting with a man who condoned Lord Morgan's behavior. She was frustrated by her inability to make a fair decision and annoyed that Lord Francis should constantly be erupting in all the corners of her life.

  Her anger made her restless, and she resolved to walk to Glencairn once again to see how the work on the folly was progressing. The walk would expend some of her nervous energy and give her time to think. There was of course the chance that she would encounter Lord Francis, but surely, at this time of day he would be occupied with his horses or some afternoon entertainment and she would be spared his company.

  Pausing only to put a very fetching chip hat over her chestnut curls, Isobel set out, Letitia's letter tucked into her reticule. She walked slowly, enjoying the sunshine and attempting to sort out her tangled thoughts. She wrestled with them for a time, but found the effort fruitless; Lord Francis' undeniable attractiveness, Letitia's pitiful situation, and the iniquity of Lord Morgan all became hopelessly entangled.

  Chapter 29

  With an effort Isobel dismissed them all from her mind, concentrating instead on the folly. Lord Glencairn's enthusiasm had transmitted itself to her and she had come to think of the folly as quite her own property.

  Approaching footsteps made her look up, and she was dismayed to see Lord Francis Wheaton approaching her from the direction of Glencairn. He was looking particularly elegant this afternoon, and she could not help noticing how attractive he was in his riding coat and breeches.

  He bore down upon her with an expression of surprised pleasure on his face.

  "Miss Paley! What an enjoyable encounter. I was walking to Dargenwater Cottage to call upon you and Miss Harriet, and I find you here upon the path."

  "Yes, I am walking to Glencairn, to discuss the folly with your host," responded Isobel. "I must make some use of my afternoons or I shall pine away of boredom."

  Lord Francis turned back towards Glencairn with alacrity. "Pray allow me to escort you, ma'am," he said.

  Isobel could not reject his company without appearing rude, but she had to feel it was unwelcome. She had only minutes before been attempting to banish the man from her mind, and now he appeared before her as if by magic. As they walked she reflected bitterly on the pleasure she felt in his company, and her undoubted attraction to him. Yet she could not feel he was trustworthy, and she could not love where she could not trust.

  "Miss Paley?"

  Isobel's attention was torn from her own woes. She turned to see Lord Francis regarding her with an amused look on his face.

  "Did you say something?" she asked.

  Lord Francis laughed. "I have now addressed three unexceptionable comm
ents about the weather to you, Miss Paley. You did not respond to any of them. Do you find my choice of topics tedious?"

  Isobel smiled slightly at his absurd tone. "Not at all, sir. I am afraid that I was pondering a new plan for plantings around the folly. I am sorry to be so rude."

  "A new plan for the folly!" exclaimed Lord Francis. "You must not tell Lord Glencairn under any circumstances! The poor man is already torn between so many ideas that he cannot in any way make up his mind. I fear something new to ponder may give him a fever of the brain."

  "Then I will on no account tell him," said Isobel, with a laugh. "I would not want to bring ill health on a neighbor as considerate as Lord Glencairn."

  "He is a very kindly man," said Lord Francis. "I am glad I have come to know him better these past weeks. Have you noted his partiality for Miss Walcott? They are becoming fast friends."

  "No, are they?" said Isobel. "I am afraid I have been so wrapped up in the folly and—-and other things that I have spent little time with Harriet of late."

  "Perhaps you spend less time with her because Lord Glencairn spends more," said Lord Francis. "He is very interested in your cousin, I believe."

  Isobel was diverted. It had been fixed in her mind for some years now that Harriet was an immutable spinster.

  "If he is interested, there is good reason," she said. "Harriet is the soul of kindness and consideration."

  "She has always been very good to me, for which I am grateful," said Lord Francis.

  Their steps had brought them to a lovely promontory overlooking a small glen. A gentle stream wound down the middle of it, and cottages nestled under pine trees, looking doll‑like from the distance. Some thoughtful person had placed a bench down a side path so that the view could be enjoyed in comfort, and Lord Francis drew Isobel towards it.

  "Come, let us enjoy this lovely sight," he said. "I find the prospects in Scotland to be finer than most in England."

  Isobel allowed herself to be seated on the bench somewhat reluctantly. She was not quite comfortable being alone with Lord Francis, as his presence produced unpredictable reactions in her.

  "You slight your own country, sir," she observed, rather archly, striving for an impersonal tone.

  "Not at all," said Lord Francis. "My paternal great‑grandmother was a Scotswoman, and I therefore have the right to claim the views of Scotland as my own."

  A moment of silence reigned as they admired the valley before them.

  "It is quite lovely," said Isobel in a strained tone. "But I believe I must continue on my way to Glencairn. The folly must not be kept waiting."

  "If I might beg a moment more of your time, Miss Paley, I would speak with you," said Lord Francis.

  Isobel turned towards him, a worried look in her green eyes. Lord Francis' face appeared almost stern, and she attempted to dispel the serious atmosphere with a light comment.

  "You cannot possibly have more to say about the folly!" she exclaimed. "I vow I dream of that wretched building at night."

  "No, it is not about the folly that I wish to speak, Miss Paley," said Lord Francis. "Surely you must have some idea of what it is I long to say?"

  Isobel felt her heart beating uncomfortably fast, but feigned a lack of interest. "Not at all, sir," she said. "I cannot take it upon myself to guess your thoughts."

  Lord Francis possessed himself of one of her delicate hands. "Then I will relieve your curiosity," he said with a glimmer of a smile. "Surely you are aware that my feelings towards you have not changed since our time in London and that I continue to hold you in great esteem."

  Isobel turned pink and looked away. "I had hoped that this was behind us, my lord, particularly as the pennyroyal has done its work. I believe I gave you a firm and clear response in London."

  "Yes, you did," said Lord Francis. "Very firm. I was at first quite hurt, and did try to forget my emotions. But I think it is clear that you do not have an irreversible dislike for my person, and you expressed a desire to be better acquainted with a man you might marry. I think that requirement is fulfilled."

  Isobel felt utterly helpless. That another declaration was approaching she could not doubt, and that it was not completely unwelcome she was reluctantly aware. Yet she could not reveal to Lord Francis the true reasons behind her inevitable refusal.

  "Lord Francis, you must be aware that I esteem you personally..." she ventured and found that she could not continue.

  "I am glad to hear that from your own lips, though it has seemed clear that you are not indifferent to me,” he replied with a smile. “Your refusal led me, Miss Paley, to search out possible reasons for your reluctance to wed. I believe I may have discovered the reason."

  Isobel's eyes, which had been inspecting the folds of her skirt, flew to his face. "What reason might that be, my lord?" she asked.

  "Why, that you are a scholar of peculiar merit, Miss Paley. That you are none other than Marcus Paley himself."

  Isobel gasped. Her free hand rose to her throat, then dropped back down to her lap. She managed a brittle laugh.

  "Surely you are jesting, Lord Francis," she said. "I find this sort of humor in questionable taste at a moment like this."

  " I am not jesting at all, and I believe you cannot deny it, Isobel. I have researched carefully the writings and background of Marcus Paley, and while I did not find him, his path leads unerringly to your door."

  "It is quite impolite of you to tease me like this, Francis. Perhaps you are exacting your revenge for my refusal of your suit, but I would not have thought you would be so mean‑spirited," said Isobel. Her anger was rising rapidly.

  "You misunderstand me," said Lord Francis. "I have nothing but the utmost respect for the works of Marcus Paley. That you might be the source of them should not surprise me, knowing the many talents you possess, and I take only pleasure in this notion."

  Isobel looked up at him, amazement on her face. "Do you mean to say that if I were indeed Marcus Paley, you would not find such activities unladylike?"

  "Mayhap they are unladylike," said Lord Francis. "And yet I cannot bring myself to object to them. I find such interests to be of greater merit than the pursuit of fashionable gowns and hats and the flattery of gentlemen." He reached into his pocket and, producing the Roman coins he had confiscated in the library at Ballydendargen Cottage, pressed them into her hand.

  Isobel was speechless. She could not believe that she was hearing a man of the ton saying that he did not find it repellent that she should indulge her passion for archaeology. Her brother was the only gentleman who was aware of her interests, and he made it very clear that he thought she was quite mad and that no respectable man would marry her unless she gave them up.

  Lord Francis laughed. "I see I have amazed you, Isobel, no mean feat in itself. And now, allow me to once again ask for your heart and your hand. I will happily wed both Miss Isobel Paley and Mr. Marcus Paley, and I trust that we can make a happy home of it."

  As Isobel gazed at him in wonder, he leaned forward and placed his lips gently on hers. Taking her in his arms, Francis deepened the kiss deepened, claiming her lips with greater urgency. She felt the strength in his arms and the steady beat of his heart against hers. The embrace was warm and exciting, and her scattered thoughts were immediately wrested from her surprise at his declaration and fixed on more urgent matters. She raised her hands and ran them through his hair, savoring the feel of the silky golden locks, returning his kiss with enjoyment and enthusiasm.

  Francis drew her closer, one hand rising to cup her breast, his thumb gently teasing her nipple through the muslin covering it. Isobel nipped at his lower lip gently with her teeth and then brought her hands to her neckline, pushing it down so the breast was exposed.

  “It’s better this way,” she said, with a wicked smile. Francis returned it, and lowered his head to take the offered breast in his mouth, covering it with kisses, suckling gently, bringing the nipple to a hard point.

  Isobel gazed down at his head as he pleas
ured her, and sighed softly, then arched her back to give him better access. Impatiently he tugged at her neckline and she heard a small ripping noise as it opened, freeing her other breast. Isobel giggled, and cupped it in her hand, offering it to Francis. Delighted, he treated it as he had the other.

  When Isobel reached down to stroke his hardening penis through his breeches, Francis paused for a moment and looked at her. Green eyes met grey, each filled with a loving look. “Not again,” he said, his voice full of amusement. “Not outside. I fear I will forget how to make love in a bed.”

  Isobel shrugged. “I’m in no mood to wait for later, Francis. Are you?” she asked.

  “I’m never in the mood to wait for you,” he answered, his hands covering her breasts, kneading them gently. “Every time I see you I want you; in a drawing room, or a dining room, at the worksite—-it makes no difference. I’m always ready for you.”

  “As I am for you,” said Isobel. She turned so she straddled the bench facing him, and, taking her skirts in her hands, slowly raised them. Francis watched avidly as they inched up over her lower legs to her knees, then past her garters and up her thighs. He reached out to grab them, and Isobel blocked his hands.

  “No, let me do it,” she said. Gathering the skirts in her hands again, she raised them very slowly up her creamy thighs, until finally the auburn curls at their apex were just uncovered. She spread her legs as far as she could, leaning back so the curls, already wet with her desire, were fully revealed. Putting one hand behind her, she braced herself, then tipped her pelvis up slightly so his view was explicitly clear.

  “Do you want that?” she asked.

  Francis nodded and reached for her, but again she blocked his hand. “Not yet,” she said. “Let me see if I’m ready for you. I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed if I’m not prepared.”

  Her eyes on his face as he stared, mesmerized, at her labia, she reached slowly down and dipped a finger into herself, moving it around gently as a groan escaped her. “I seem to be wet enough for one finger,” she observed. “But you’re far larger than one of my fingers. Perhaps I should use two….or three.” Slowly, still watching him, she slid two more fingers into her slit, stroking the warm flesh gently, her thumb circling the bud of pleasure she found there. She moaned slightly, and saw Francis’ entire body clench with desire.