by Diana Ballew
Without a word, he gently cupped her chin with his hand and lifted her face up to him. Isabella couldn’t breath; the touch of his fingers caused her skin to tingle.
“Sweet lady fair,” he murmured as his mouth settled over hers.
The feel of his warm lips was heaven. She knew she should push him away, knew allowing him such a liberty was wrong, but it felt so good, so right. And then his arms pulled her against him, and she gasped at the heat from his body.
He flicked his tongue against her parted lips. He kissed her again and again, his teeth nibbling at her full lower lip, his tongue caressing her; his hands stroked up and down her silk-clad back and then settled on her hips.
Isabella stiffened against him and tried to push him away. This was wrong, it was too much. He groaned again into her mouth. Desperate, she tore her lips away from his and threw back her head. “Easton, you mustn’t,” she rasped out in a weak voice.
“Bella, sweet Lady Bella,” he licked the hollow of her throat where her pulse was beating madly. “You can’t know how I’ve wanted to do this, to touch you, taste you.” His hands roamed over her derriere. “You’ve been driving me mad.”
Frightened and more than a little angry at his forwardness, Isabella shoved against him as hard as she could. He fell back onto the marble floor.
“How dare you! You touched my bottom!”
As she raced up the stairs and dashed to her room, Isabella could hear the sounds of his drunken laughter mocking her.
Chapter 5
“Good morning, Easton,” Isabella loudly called out to her butler as she descended the staircase. She smiled as she saw him wince. It served him right to be incapacitated. She wondered if he remembered the outrageous things he had done to her last night. She certainly did. She had been awake the better part of the night thinking about how he had touched her and kissed her – and then had spent the rest of the night trying not to think about it as her traitorous body throbbed with the yearning he stirred in her. He was quite unlike any man she had ever met before.
“My lady.”
“Is breakfast ready? I believe I shall enjoy some kippered herring and haggis this morning.” Isabella remembered how her father had turned quite green just thinking about kippered herring or haggis after a night of imbibing too much liquor. Of course, Father had always become ill at the idea of haggis, a tasty Scottish dish involving most unappetizing animal body parts.
“Yes, and some fresh goat’s milk.” She could have sworn she heard a gagging sound from the man proceeding her to the dining room. Her mood drastically improved.
After spending close to an hour torturing Easton while she slowly ate her meal (which was actually kippers and eggs, but she didn’t let him know that) and making sure to remark at nearly every bite how delicious it was, Isabella withdrew to her day room. It was almost time for luncheon when the footman rapped on her door, having just received a letter from her cousin Alex’s courier. It was a thick packet, and she was somewhat apprehensive about opening it. Was he summoning Easton back so soon? It had only been a week, after all.
After picking up and putting down the envelope a good half dozen times with unusual indecisiveness, Isabella finally ripped it open. Inside was a letter to her and another envelope, this one addressed to Woodrow Easton. She took a deep breath then read her note.
* * *
Dearest Cousin Isabella,
Me gratitude knows no bounds that you have managed to put up with our young butler-in-training thus far. I pray he has not upset your fine sensibilities too much with his coarse ways.
* * *
Isabella snorted, thinking that if her cousin only knew how her “fine sensibilities” had been treated last night, he would surely shoot Easton. She read on.
* * *
Although it is not yet time for him to return to us here in London, things do look brighter for his future. I hope to have issues resolved within a week. I shall, of course, write you the moment I know for certain. Perhaps I shall come meself to fetch the puppy, as it has been overly long since I have looked in on you. I hope that you will forgive me imposition, but I shall come, with me friend Whit. All right, then, me dear, it’s settled.
Until we meet in a week,
* * *
Your Cousin,
Alexander Fitzhugh
* * *
Goodness, he wrote strangely, and his speech certainly hadn’t improved with the years. Ah, only a week left of Easton’s company. She felt oddly depressed now. Life could be so very disappointing at times.
A footman delivered a letter to Rafe while he lay suffering in his room. Cook had given him a tonic earlier, which he had been assured would temper the worst of his headache but as yet it had not had much effect. Upon recognizing Alex’s handwriting, he sat bolt upright, despite the agony it caused him. He eagerly tore open the envelope.
* * *
Dear Easton (ha!),
You will be most gratified to learn lovely Melanie is rapidly falling in love with first Whit and then me, of course. We are taking turns at wearing her down. The lengths we are willing to go for you, old boy! It boggles me mind.
Du Champs remains in the country, or whereever, which makes things much easier. We should have this matter resolved by the end of the week, when the poor sod is due home. I have written to plain little Isabella that Whit and I will come then to fetch you, thus relieving her of your tedious presence. We are so very kind.
Try to behave until then, and “limit your lamenting”, as Tilbot suggests.
* * *
Your friend,
Alex
* * *
Rafe grinned at first, then frowned. He only had a week left with “plain little” Isabella.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, remembering vividly how beautiful she had looked last night in her dark blue gown with its revealing neckline. Bloody hell, he had actually squeezed her round little bottom.
He had brooded for a while after she left for the party, only too aware at how he would have treated her had he been himself and seen her in such a setting. He would have used his carefully crafted skills to flatter her, get her alone - the veranda always being a nice place - and seduce her as thoroughly as possible without completely compromising her, of course.
Cook had finally found him pacing among the thick tomes in the library, wanting to see if he was up for a game of cards and a pint of grog. The drink had sounded like just what Rafe needed. Perhaps the liquor would set him right again. Heaven knew he had never been one to sulk over a female, and he didn’t much care to start now.
As he sat with the cook and a few other staff members, the cards were soon forgotten as the grog flowed and he learned quite a bit more about their lady.
“Och, she was a wee lit’le bairn when her lady mother birthed her.” Cook had needed little prodding on the subject of their mistress. “She done come out wi’ a head o’ red fuzz, she did. A plain lit’le mite, sure eno’. Her da, the laird, feared she’d ne’re catch a mon, sae he taught her all he ken o’ managing the land.” Cook chuckled and refilled his tankard. “Sure eno’, she learned quick as a sprite, and then she blossomed.” The others nodded, sighing with fondness for their lovely lady.
“So, she really was plain once?”
“Och, aye. Plain as day auld bread, she was. Boot such a smart and sweet lass, i’ t’were easy tae o’erlook. Her da doted on her, boot ne’er did she spoil. She always has time fer yea, always remembers a birthday, and always has a kind word for work well done. Why, e’ery Christmas, besides a hearty helping o’ coin, she gives her lasses each a bar o’ fine rose soap, made by her own hands, nay less, and material fer a new frock.” The heavyset cook nodded, then tapped a thick finger on the scarred wooden tabletop. “And, don’t ye ken, each mon gets a fine new pair o’ woolen mitts wi’ matchin’ scarves and a new pair o’ boots.”
“Really.” Rafe was vastly enjoying the man’s thick accent. He poured himself a refill of the tasty brew.
> “Och, tae be sure. Mind ye, she expects a decent days labor, boot she treats ye fair fer it.” The other men joined the chef in raising their mugs in salute. “’Course, there were some what didn’t ken the pur lit’le lass could fill her da’s shoes, once he passed o’er.” His chest puffed up with pride. “But, she did now, didn’t she lads, and right fine, tae.”
Rafe had listened for a while longer to tales of the “sweet lass” of her kindness, loyalty and bravery. Of how she nursed old farmer Danny when the fever was on him or how she pitched right in when the freeze came too early and nearly destroyed the crops. And any time there was a dispute between farmers or tradesmen, she was quick to offer the perfect solution. Silently, as he knew his dry remark would not be well met, Rafe had wondered if she shouldn’t be put up for sainthood.
It was after the others had retired that he got to sulking and worrying again. He kept seeing her, attempting to fight off some lecherous old squire who had managed to corner her behind a pot of ivy. He remembered pacing and talking to the portraits high on the wall that he assumed were her long dead relatives, but about what, he couldn’t quite remember.
Then, when he had been torturing himself with images of her enjoying some other man’s attentions, she finally came home. And that’s when he had completely lost control.
He groaned, then laughed. Her obvious attempts to make him uncomfortable this morning were quite adorable. Goat’s milk and haggis? Good Lord. If he had thought he could have withstood the noise, he would have applauded her.
“Whatever is the matter with you, Bella?” Lisbeth frowned toward her.
Isabella turned to stare out the large windows of the parlor that overlooked the vast lawn and beyond. Her friend had only just arrived for tea and already Bella couldn’t focus on her friend’s gossip.
“Where is Easton today? I was very disappointed he wasn’t here to show me in.”
Isabella glanced at the blonde, whose pretty bow mouth was set in a pout, and snorted. “He’s probably still puking on his boots.” She looked back out across the green lawn, toward the fields and woods stretching on. If only she wasn’t responsible for the care of all this, she could -.
“Bella! What has happened – is Easton ill?”
Isabella turned from the window and took a seat on the light green settee beside Lisbeth. How much should she confide to her best friend? Dare she tell her of how thrilling it had felt to be in Easton’s arms last night? How his tongue had flickered in her mouth and . . . goodness.
“Nonsense, nothing happened.”
“Now Bella,” Lisbeth’s tone was scolding, “you can’t pull that on me, of all people. I know you too well.” The other woman studied her heated cheeks. Suddenly, her visitor leaned back, her eyes wide with understanding. “Gracious!”
“What?” Isabella absently toyed with a tart on the tray before her. Their tea was still untouched. What was she to do about the man?
“He kissed you, didn’t he?” Seeing Isabella’s cheeks turn even redder, Lisbeth shouted with triumph.
Isabella placed her hands on her burning face, glanced at her friend, then nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, before covering her eyes. She had never been so embarrassed. Gracious, she had actually let the man fondle her on the stairs! It had been a remarkable disregard of ladylike comportment. She couldn’t help but wonder what he might have done next, if she hadn’t run from him.
Lisbeth started giggling. “You lucky girl!”
“Beth! How can you think me lucky? Do you know what he did to me?” She groaned. Lucky, ha! He was leaving in only a week. How lucky was that? What was she to do?
Lisbeth sat forward, her pale blue eyes shining with excitement. “Tell me, Bella. What did he do to you?”
Isabella flung her head back against the couch, her arms wrapped around her. She sighed. “He kissed me.”
Lisbeth let her irritation show. “I know he kissed you, but what else? There’s more to it than that.”
“His hands.” Isabella faltered, thinking of his large warm hands caressing her back, his fingertips gently tracing her spine. She shivered as she recalled the feel of him grasping her hips.
“What about his hands?”
“They touched . . . my back.” Isabella gave the blonde a meaningful look. “My back.”
“Goodness.”
She sighed. “And his, well, his tongue . . .”
“Oh, my.” Lisbeth began fanning herself with her napkin. “His tongue?”
“On my neck ... and . . . my mouth.” She was feeling rather warm, herself. Her body was reliving each thrill as she talked about it.
“What actually happened?” The fair woman suddenly recalled Bella’s earlier remark, which must seem at obvious discord with the kissing parts. “Why would he vomit on his shoes for heavens sake?”
“Oh,” Isabella stiffened, and answered, “because he was foxed.”
“No!”
“Yes,” Isabella nodded. “He advanced on me, said outrageous things, and then kissed me.”
“And,” Lisbeth was leaning so far forward, she was in danger of toppling over.
“And then he embraced me.” She looked down at her white hands, fidgeting in her lap. “His big hands pressed me to him and I pushed at him, but he was too strong. I told him to stop, but then he began kissing my neck and I . . .” She swallowed, hard. The feel of him pressed against her, the heat of his hands and mouth on her. She was wicked, surely, as she wanted to feel those sensations again.
“What?”
Isabella suddenly grinned, remembering just what had happened next. “I pushed him on his arse!”
“You did what?” Incredulous, Lisbeth’s mouth hung open and her eyes were wide.
Isabella couldn’t help it, she started laughing.
“Bella, really! That gorgeous piece of manhood kisses and caresses you and you knock him down? What is wrong with you?”
Isabella sobered. “Nonsense! What else was I supposed to do? He was drunk and making love to me on the stairs, for heaven’s sake!”
“Well, I don’t really know, but I think shoving him down was silly.” Her friend gave her an indignant snort. “I would have let him continue a bit more, unless,” the blonde looked suddenly concerned. “Was he being a clod? Did he bruise you or tear at your bodice?”
“No, no.” Isabella waved her hand, dismissing the notion. “Nothing like that.” White teeth worried her lower lip. “Truth be told, Beth, it was wonderful. I just got frightened when he, well, grabbed me there.” She knew she was blushing again. “I just felt so out of control and I didn’t know what would happen next if I didn’t stop him. He was quite smashed.”
“That’s understandable, I suppose.”
“I’ve never been kissed before, Beth.” Isabella felt woefully inadequate. Here she was at the ripe old age of nineteen, an age when most girls were married, for goodness sake, and she was having her first romantic encounter with her butler, of all people.
“Never?” The flirtatious girl appeared surprised. “Not even by Eddie Philpott? He was constantly after you before he went off to study.”
Isabella shook head, her curls bouncing. “Goodness, no. Oh, he tried a time or two, but I only had to give him a stern look and he behaved himself again.”
“I did wonder if you would marry him.”
“Mr. Philpott?” Isabella laughed. “Nonsense! He’s a weak little troll. He only wanted my money, after all.”
“Oh, I doubt that was all he wanted, Bella.” Lisbeth gave her a knowing look. “You’d quite begun to fill out by then.” She laughed at the face Isabella made. “Really, you’ve become quite lovely. Father was going on just this morning about how you’re even more beautiful than your mother was.”
“Oh, please, Beth.”
“Don’t look so disbelieving. Haven’t you got a mirror? Weren’t you hounded last night, and not only at the party?” Lisbeth giggled.
“Bosh and rot.”
“Goodness, Bella, I’m q
uite serious.” The blonde looked at her in puzzlement. “You really don’t see how lovely you’ve grown to be, do you? You have no idea.”
“You are my dear friend and it’s your duty to say sweet things to me.” Isabella was embarrassed by this talk. She had known all her life how plain she was. Even her dear papa, who had loved her more than anything, had not harbored false thoughts.
“We’ll not fool ourselves, dearest,” Father had told her. “You’re no head turner, like your sainted mother was, but you’re smarter than most men. You’ve got that. Rely on your brains and eventually you’ll settle a decent match.”
She had been all of twelve at the time and the next year, the details of managing the estate were added, at her father behest, to her ladylike studies. She had quite enjoyed it, actually, earning praise from her tutor and her beloved father at her successes. She had decided then that perhaps it was a good thing God had traded her comeliness for brains.
Isabella altered the topic of conversation, bringing up that which was at the forefront in her mind. “He’ll be leaving in a week.”
“Who? Easton?”
“Yes, my cousin is coming to fetch him. I had a letter from him just this morning that he and his friend Lord Langley would be visiting.”
“Why is Lord Stapleton taking such an interest in a butler?”
Isabella shrugged. She had wondered about it as well, but Alex was strange enough that anything was possible. Hadn’t he named that fine hound of his ‘Dog,’ and refused to even consider changing it to something much more normal?
“Well, it’s odd. They are of a similar age. Hmm,” Lisbeth tapped a finger against her cheek while she thought. “Perhaps Easton is your uncle’s bastard?”
“Well, it’s possible but I don’t think so. He doesn’t act very much like the lower class, does he?” Finally, she poured herself and her guest a cup of tepid tea. “Alex’s note was worded strangely. Something about situations righting themselves, and Easton’s future looking brighter now.”