He nodded and sighed. "Yes, in some senses. It was no lie I told you, Isolde. I've never experienced with anyone what we've shared together. I'm not sure what to do about it," he admitted.
He waved his hand around the snug chamber. "Or about any of this. There's much to consider, for both of us. All I know is I don't want to fight with you, sweetheart, and I don't want you to leave."
He slid the gown from her now more relaxed fingers and placed it on the low couch at the foot of the bed. "Please, Isolde, sit and eat. And if you're willing, please let me share the bed with you this night. I promise not to press my advances in deference to your delicate state after all we've already shared. But, well, I would like to know what it's like to-" He blushed again, his eyes darkening.
"To know what? I'm a virgin. Was a virgin," she corrected herself with some asperity. "I can't thrill you like that ladybird-"
He gripped her hand hard. "No, you did much more for me than someone like that ever could!" he said quickly, with such vehemence she decided he had no reason to lie.
"But I really meant, I wanted to um, sleep with someone, er, all night. In a warm but not passionate way. Affectionately," he said, struggling for the words. "Tenderly."
She stared up at him, and could see the effort it cost him to make the request. She had not failed to catch his wary looks. It was evident he did not trust her one bit.
And she did not blame him. Even knowing the truth, having witnessed the events with her own two eyes, she was not quite sure she believed everything that had happened herself.
But Randall was a soul in pain. He was kind and gentle, devoted to his mother even if he loathed himself. And he had said some most damning things about Howell's sexual proclivities which indicated he had some respect for women, and no brutality, even if he was a rake.
She sighed after a time, then raised her hand to caress his bare arm. "Very well, I'll stay. As you say, we can talk in the morning. For now, I think you must be hungry."
He nodded, relieved. Sure she was not going to leave, he went to finish drying himself and retrieved his silk robe, whilst she donned the burgundy velvet robe back over her chemise, then poured tea and started to make them both some sandwiches.
He was right. She was tired, and she really had nowhere else to go. And she was sure they had not heard the last of Chauncey, for all of the airs insouciant confidence. She bit her lip and sighed. Really, if she had only known...
Randall came out of the bathing chamber, his eyes lighting on her like a caress.
Ah, but now she did know. And whatever price she had to pay for this tempestous night of passion, she had the feeling it would be more than worth it....
Chapter Nine
Isolde remade the bed, then spread a clean towel at the foot of it, and began to use it as a makeshift table for their repast.
Randall looked surprised, but went over to join her, stretching out his long frame on the chaise longue, one elbow on a cushion like an ancient Roman.
"Mmm, delicious. I'm suddenly ravenous," she said, licking her fingers.
"I know exactly how you feel," he said, trying to swallow down the bite he had taken past the sudden lump in his throat as he drank in her beauty.
He reached over and took her hand, and began to lick her fingers himself.
Her little caught breath and slight tension in her arm were enough to remind him that he had promised not to take advantage of her tender state...
But I haven't, she thought wickedly, the colour of her eyes deepening to the shade of the ocean. Though she was tired, she felt more alive than she ever had in her life, and was still stimulated from what he had done to her before they had been interrupted. The bath, and the sight of his glorious maleness had only added to her already simmering arousal.
Since she was already a fallen woman, and would never see this man after tomorrow, why didn't she simply enjoy all he had to offer? Experiment with some of the things she had been so curious about? What she had heard from other women, from the fallen ones she had worked with?
Randall had already said she was unforgettable. He probably said that to every woman he had ever bedded. He had assayed her only for a bet. Well, now she was going to challenge herself to give him one night he would never forget.
She took his own hand and reciprocated, licking his fingers and suckling one of them into her mouth. She was longing to taste his nipples once more, his most fragrant skin.
She parted the silk robe and did just that, and now a great deal more, all thoughts of food forgotten as a different hunger ached to be assuaged.
She stroked his chest, shoulders and abdomen in a massaging caress she had learnt from one of Dr. Herriot's acquaintances, Eswara Paignton, an Indian healer she had met when she had first started working at the clinic.
Isolde's hands never stilled; her lips followed them, until she ran her tongue lightly along his shaft and then closed her moistened lips over the helmeted top, which she had been told was one of the places which men felt maximum pleasure.
Randall squirmed in a feeble effort to get away, but she held him still by gripping one leg and his shaft.
"Isolde, no, you don't have to. That's not-"
"But you did it to me," she whispered against his pulsing flesh.
"But you're a respectable-"
"Ah, yes, but I'm also a fallen woman now, aren't I? I might as well live up to everyone's expectations."
He tried to grasp her arm. "No, I don't want you to-"
She sucked him in powerfully, flattening her tongue and pretending to drink as one working girl had suggested to another one day at the clinic when they had been waiting their turn. She had never imagined ever doing any of this herself, but she revelled in the power she now had.
"Please, no, Isolde, I'm begging you," he gritted out. I can't hold back if you do that and-"
She lifted her head. "You told me to relax. Now I'm telling you. Since I'm in this muddle, I might as well make the most of it. At least let me explore you, give you back the gift you gave me."
She ran her tongue teasingly over every inch of him, fascinated with the different textures from velvet-soft to steel under satin. She was fascinated by the downy soft pouch between his thighs, which she explored with her tongue as well until he begged her to stop.
She adored the way he felt, looked. She knew she should have been frightened. That this was not the sort of thing that respectable wives did to their husbands.
But she had heard the working women discussing this as a way to really excite a man, to get him off as quickly as possible to go onto the next customer. In her case, she wanted to cherish Randall, see his explosive response. But her own needs could not be denied forever.
He was still prostrate with passion, poised right on the edge of climax when he felt her raise herself upwards onto his torso and glide onto him, parting her robe to surround him in her secret cove flooded with desire. She glided and rippled against him, and he gasped.
God in Heaven...
"Isolde?" His hips thrust upwards from the settee, impaling her as he surged.
"Randall!" she panted, her blue eyes glowing. She clung to him urgently, her legs spread wide astride him, her hips angling down to caress the heated flesh turgid with desperate yearning.
Great, heaving shudders tore through Randall until Isolde's answering sob and desperate clutching of his shoulders with her delicate nails quickly told him she was with him every step of the way. Kiss for kiss and stroke for stroke they gave, and received the most wondrous rapture. Randall's own pleasure was as nothing compared to what he could do for the lovely girl whom Chauncey had tried to ruin, but Fate had gifted him with.
Randall climaxed long and hard, in great shuddering spasms, completing himself inside her without a thought of pulling out before it was too late.
His primitive need to possess her, make her his irrevocably, was not one he could possibly admit to himself, he who had never considered having any hope of a woman as lovely, gently-re
ared and intelligent as Isolde.
The desire to keep her always as his own, the woman who completed him, made him whole, drove him on until he burst forth in his paroxysm of passion and spilled his seed deeply inside her.
"Isolde, my love," he panted, as she took him yet higher. A rainbow exploded in his head as he travelled to the end of it, and found a treasure more valuable than any he could have ever imagined.
As he spent himself inside her, for the first time since his brother Francis had died, he knew absolute peace.
"Randall!" Isolde breathed, stroking his face and back ardently, tears of joy filling her eyes as he gripped her hips with both hands and drove upwards with a final trust which rendered her incapable of a single coherent thought.
Her breasts pressed against his chest so tightly, arms and legs clutching so hard, it was as if she would pull him right into her completely and make them one forever.
Which in a sense they were now, Randall reflected has he blinked and roused himself to kiss her lingeringly on the mouth. Now that he had known such radiant joy, how was he ever to let her go?
Randall sighed. The peace and joy wouldn't last. He cringed inwardly at the tongue-lashing he was sure was about to come at any moment. But instead of a stinging denunciation for his lack of decency after he had promised not to take advantage of her, Isolde stroked his hair back from his damp brow and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I can see my coming here has only made things worse for you, not better. I've been such a fool."
Through eyes heavy-lidded with passion, she could see the strange red flickering battling against the flashes of bright white again, held him tenderly.
"No, never that," he said fiercely, kissing her. "You're so beautiful, Isolde. That can be my only excuse. I never intended to, well..."
"I wanted you to," she said candidly. "I want you."
He did not need to be told twice. He sat up and pushed forward until he was on his knees on the Turkey carpet. They ground together at the movements and repositioning, making her pant with eagerness.
"I thought men, er, declined after the, um, petit mort," she said with a blush. "But you're, well, um-" She bit her lip and blushed.
"The word your looking for is erect. Yes, indeed. So hard I could drive nails with it," he joked. "But I don't want to make you sore. Just let me lie on top of you, that's right, ooh."
Her internal caress was already rippling so strongly, he pulled her hips more tightly to his. The impassioned kiss he gave her arched her back even further, driving him so deeply into her achingly needy core that they both saw the seas part and the sky fall.
Never had there been a woman like her for Randall, and as he made love to her achingly, he knew there never could be again. He might have destroyed any chance at happiness he might have had with her. He had never intended a single touch of this lovely young girl to be anything other than a game, a bet. But every one of her caresses had been tender, like a balm to his tormented soul. As Randall poured into her, his desperate kiss was a silent plea for love, for help.
Isolde had never imagined anything like this could ever happen to her. She had never thought anything like this could exist. But then she had never imagined a man like Randall could ever exist, or if he did, that she would ever meet him, become his lover.
She had no idea what demons were driving Randall onwards like a man possessed. To all outward appearances he was a calm and poised man of the world. But when she had looked into his dark lapis eyes just before they climaxed, she had seen something terrifying. That darkness within he had denied was there.
Was his fury directed at her? It was evident he did not trust her, thought she might be in league with Howell. And there was a past political history between their fathers she only knew the vaguest details of.
But both their fathers were dead now. And surely he would not be so unreasonable to visit the sins of the father on the children?
No, he seemed more infuriated with himself. About her? The mistake he had made and the potential consequences? She was not so sure. But she didn't want to run the risk of finding out.
Yet at the same time, to leave Randall all alone now that she'd seen her odd visions so clearly was unthinkable. The only way to combat the grimness within his heart was to give him what he had asked for. The warmth and affection he evidently craved, judging from his request that she stay with him all night so he could discover what it was like to sleep with someone.
It would be no pain to her--nothing but the most exquisite pleasure course through her whenever they made love. He was still a huge invasion of her delicate body, but one she could bear. He was a large man, but considerate. His hips pinning her down made her lose all control, all feeling and sensation except of him.
But he wanted to be careful of her, sensitive to her needs. She would be safe with him. She had sensed that from the moment he had invited her to act upon her desires for once in her life. She never would have had she not been certain he was someone she could trust, a man of the world who might never be emotional, but could be counted upon to be fair and practical when all of this was over and they had to face each other in the cold light of day.
So, she would be his true, tender love for one night. And he would, with his magnificent gentleness, be hers.
The flickering image passed through her mind again, red, bloody. Then it was gone as suddenly as it had come. But it terrified her. Not for herself, but for him. She cradled him against her and whispered, "It's all right, Randall, I'm here. I'll help you. I won't leave you. Come, let's snuff the candles and go to bed."
He glided out of her carefully and rose from the floor. He helped Isolde up and scooped her into his arms, placing her carefully on the bed. She moved to the center of the mattress and took off the burgundy velvet robe that had twisted all around her waist, while he snuffed out the candles around the room.
He got into the bed and lay stiffly for a moment beside her, before she looped one arm around his neck and tugged his head down lightly to cradle it against her bosom. He almost collapsed with relief and gratitude.
He didn't set out to make love to her again, for indeed, this was more athletic and desirous than he had ever been in his life with any woman. Indeed, he might almost have suspected her of giving him some sort of potion from her valise of medical supplies, except that he had poured the tea, and she had drunk it as well as himself.
What was it about this woman that set him so afire? He recalled the word empathetic he had used in the drawing room only a few short hours before.
Yes, that was it. It was as if she knew exactly what he wanted, needed, even before he did.
Every nerve in his body seemed to coil and writhe as she touched him, loved him with her hands in long sweeping strokes. He soon could not resist the nearness of her, and nuzzled her nipples, cresting them to fullness, while his hand roved down to nestle inside her thrilling secret place.
Soon the gentle caresses were no longer enough for either of them, and he raised his head to kiss her. She pulled her lips away just long enough to whisper, "Yes, please, Randall."
Their souls and bodies blending and merging a swirl of sensation, they treasured one another gently, with none of the urgency of their previous pairings. Both felt it was perfect, meant to be in some way. They were so finely tuned to each other's needs and desires that with a last powerful roll of their hips, they finished together blissfully. They lay for a time utterly spent in the warm circle of each other's embrace, like two spent swimmers cast upon the shore of an island paradise they had never imagined could exist.
At last Randall managed to ease his heavy weight off her. He grasped her convulsively and clung to her, pulling her tightly to his side so that she could scarcely breathe. He too was still panting heavily from what they had just shared, and his words came out ragged and hoarse.
"I don't care what Howell says, how angry he is. I don't even care what your family says. We need to be married, Isolde, as soon as possible."
"Married," s
he gasped. "But we can't. You don't really want that and I-"
He silenced her by tracing her lips tenderly with his finger. "Please, Isolde. Trust me."
He knew he couldn't even begin to explain everything, but his intuition was strong enough to feel that his prayers earlier that evening had in fact been answered. "I know all of this is a mull at the moment, with Howell's threats hanging over us. But whatever mistakes I've made, I couldn't bear to see you suffer because of me. I took that which can never be replaced. And I've just lost all control with you again. Spilled my seed. I couldn't even try to avoid completing myself within you. Not once, several times. Even now you could be with child."
She tried to sit up. "But these are not good reasons to marry! We can't possibly--"
He moved down in the bed to face her, one tender hand on her cheek forcing her to meet his gaze in the flickering firelight from the hearth. Her hair limned in the light was like an exquisite halo. He knew then she was his angel, sent to save him from the darkness.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets) Page 11