The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "Then show me. Give me everything, right here, right now."

  "With the greatest pleasure."

  He bent his knees to lift her onto his erection, thinking only to make love to her up against the wall. But she was so wet and ready for him he froze, overwhelmed. He was on the brink of release in a second, unable to move within her for fear of the roar of passion that he was about to bellow out for the benefit of anyone who walked past.

  His knees began to buckle with his passionate trembling. Fearful of dropping or hurting her, he planted her dainty bottom on the small white pilaster on the back wall which held an ornate dried flower arrangement, sending it crashing to the floor.

  The pilaster was just the right height for him to press into her, and Randall had to prop his hands on either side of her to prevent his knees from giving way. Isolde clung to him fiercely, not complaining about the cool marble against her backside in her urgent need for him to get even closer, fill her to the brim with his awesome male power.

  Her fingers raked down his buttocks, her ankles crossed around his back, and she lifted her hips and pulled her legs up towards her waist, propelling him within her even harder. He pressed her shoulders back against the wall, took hold of her hips to position her and bent her knees, exposing them to both their gazes if they cared to look down.

  It was the most arousing sight they had ever seen. With one last thrust he poured into Isolde, until there was no beginning and no ending, just another plunge upwards to bliss, then a sinking and another surge to madness once more.

  Their mouths swallowed each other’s impassioned cries of delight as the bliss tore through them, the hard marble of the pillar against their flesh an unexpected thrill as they drove each other to near-oblivion.

  At some point Randall managed to lift her off the pilaster and out of the alcove, for it was in the middle of the hall that her brother Stephen caught them.

  He shook his head and laughed. "I say, you two, don’t you ever use a bed?"

  "Sorry," Randall said, clamping one arm over his wife’s bosom and his hand over her dainty auburn curls to shield her before hauling her into the bedroom and thrusting the table up against the broken portal once more.

  "He’s right, you know," Randall panted as he laid her on the bed gently and got in beside her eagerly, anxious to plant himself between her thighs once more. "I do so love being in bed with you."

  "And I with you. But you need to look at me, Randall," she said softly, holding him off as he would have entered her.

  He raised his lips from her breast. Their gazed mingled, cornflower with lapis lazuli. "Randall, tell me who I am in your life."

  He sat up slightly, willing the words to come. They were there in an instant, pouring forth without a moment’s hesitation. He told her the entire, unvarnished truth, for she needed and deserved no less.

  "Isolde Drake Avenel, my wife, and the woman I shall love for all eternity. The woman I shall adore every day of this life, and love to distraction in the next. The most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes or hands upon, and the other half of myself. The woman who completes me, makes me whole, the woman who is ever at my side to take on all that the world chooses to throw at me.

  "You are the mother of my children, the loving daughter of my mother as well as your own. A devoted sister, friend, companion to all who meet you. A kind mistress to the servants, and one of the most Christian and charitable women I have ever met. You, Isolde, are woman who is perfection in every way, and one I can never stop admiring, and thanking the Heavens for. For you truly are a gift from the gods. I love you in every way it is possible for a man to love a woman, a husband to love a wife.

  "You, Isolde, are the only woman who has ever tempted me to merge my life with hers irrevocably. So please believe me when I say that you are the woman I swear absolute fidelity to now and for always."

  "Oh, Randall."

  "No other woman could ever possibly tempt me, for the joy I know within you, and every moment of the day and night as your husband, is without compare. I know without the shadow of a doubt that what we share is so precious, it could never be equalled, let alone surpassed."

  She stroked his cheek lovingly, and he planted a heated kiss on her palm.

  "Trust me, my dearest love. I would never, ever risk what we have by entertaining any attempt to seduce me away from you for even one second. There is no greener pasture, no new conquest for my former rakish self. You’ve utterly vanquished me, and I shall willingly be your slave for the rest of our lives, in bed and out. Not a hussy like Georgina, nor even the most innocent young wide-eyed country miss could tempt me after the exquisite ecstasy we’ve shared. Share every time we’re together like this." He stroked his hands down her body reverently.

  Her lips parted in a soft sigh of passion.

  "No one’s heart and soul has ever spoken to me as yours does, my darling Isolde. That day by the ancient stones, your heart spoke to mine. You asked me what my dreams were when we first married. That was the first one I ever hoped for, and it means everything to me to know you love me even after all the dreadful things I’ve done. I can only hope you can love me as much as I love you. That I can be enough for you. For more even than my own happiness, I need and desire yours."

  She stroked his cheek tenderly, and kissed him on the lips. "You’re all of those things to me, and so much more, my darling Randall. Friend, husband, father to the children, lover. And so much more that there simply aren’t any words for. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. I never shall again."

  "I don’t blame you. I don’t trust myself at times. I’ve been a bad man, foolish and weak. But if any of those doubts ever come up again, just think of us the way we are here and now, these words I’ve said to you. Carry them in your heart, as you wear that necklace next to it, and know that I’m yours for eternity, Isolde. Nothing will separate us, not even death."

  She kissed him. I will remember. Always, she vowed in her heart.

  He heard her words within his own head, and pushing back his own fears and uncertainty, Randall surrendered to the soaring sensation only her love could evoke.

  He moved against her powerfully, possessing her so completely Isolde could feel his thrust right down to her toes and up to the top of her head.

  The sun burst forth from within them, until she cried out his name in passionate abandon so loudly that even the most obtuse house guests downstairs could not fail to grasp the momentous event they were sharing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Randall and Isolde stirred drowsily several hours later. Randall wiggled up the bed to ring the bell before searching for his dressing gown. "Bath, and food. Then we need to see if our guests need anything."

  "They have the servants to cater to their every whim. Get back in this bed now," she grumbled from under a pillow.

  He gave her a warm smile, and lifting the pillow, kissed her on the lips. "My dear, much as I need and adore you, there are a few other things I simply must tend to. I might as well get them all out of the way, so we can go back to bed."

  When Henry the manservant opened the door, Randall ordered some meat, cheese and wine, and for the fire to be banked up and lots of wood brought. Then he went over to the window, looking out at the sparkling night sky, and closed the shutters.

  He lit a few candles, then vanished into the bathroom, where he began to run the bath. He took care of some of his more pressing personal needs, and searched through his necessaire. He laid out his straight razor and some shaving cream. There was no sense in rasping her tender skin any more than he already had, though often she claimed she adored it on her back, belly and thighs.

  He bent to pour some rose oil in the water and inhaled deeply. He started to hum to himself as he shaved. As he gazed in the mirror, he was sure he saw a new man. He looked so happy, so content, so alive.

  He had Isolde to thank for that. It was all down to her love that he had come this far, walked away from his past and embraced the future she offered him. All th
e boundaries had come tumbling down at last for both of them, and he refused to be fearful of the future or the intense love they shared.

  Randall had meant every loving word he had said to his wife earlier. She was the whole world to him. Even his vow of revenge against the men who had destroyed his father, and against Howell, was as nothing compared to the enchantment they shared. It was like a heady drug; the more he got, the more he craved, nay, needed it. Isolde was the opium of his soul, though instead of calming him, she thrilled him to his very marrow.

  He splashed water on his face to rinse off the last of the shaving soap, tested the tub to make sure it was hot the way she liked, and turned off the water.

  "Darling, are you ready?" he called.

  "Um, no, not at the minute. Food first, I think," she sighed, sitting up and feeling muzzy-headed. She wondered at her world swimming. Her time of the month was not due for another fortnight or so. She could not imagine why she felt so faint, and there was such an odd sensation deep within her.

  "Are you all right?" Randall asked, suddenly worried, though he could not have said why. It was almost as if she were vibrating in front of her eyes, flickering like a flame. It had to be a draft in there, guttering the candles, he decided, moving over to the bed to help her sit up.

  He thumped the pillows, fluffed them, and pressed Isolde back against them, while he pulled up the covers over her bare body and tucked her in. He rearranged her auburn hair so that it no longer hung in her eyes, and kissed the top of her head.

  "Better now?"

  "Um, yes. But I would be even better if you got in here to hold me."

  He went over to the bench to pick up her dressing gown and wrapped it around her shoulders carefully. He moved to the hearth and used the last of the wood to build up a fine blaze. He returned to her once more just as the food arrived.

  He took the tray from Henry and placed it on her lap. He climbed into the bed next to her and began feeding her morsels of food, his fingers caressing and teasing her lips, and alternating with warm kisses. He also pressed a glass of claret to her lips, making her drink, then kissing the drops from her lips.

  He took a mouthful himself to share by insinuating his tongue into the sweet cavity of her mouth. She shivered with delight, her nipples peaking, her thighs aglow.

  More servants now appeared with the wood, built up the fire even further, left a huge pile of kindling behind, and were about to vanish as silently as they had come.

  "Will there be anything else, sir?" Hopkins the butler asked, his head around the door ready to beat a hasty retreat and leave the couple to their usual prodigious lovemaking.

  "Yes, is my mother well?"

  "Yes, sir. She says you and your wife are to forget all about the houseguests and the ball tonight. Sarah and Alexander Davenport are doing the honours. You both need to er, rest." Then he departed.

  Randall and Isolde both giggled.

  "What a weight off my mind," he sighed.

  "Yes, isn’t it."

  He ran his hand down her neck and shoulder to cup her breast, and she ran her fingers into his hair to deepen the kiss.

  "Mmm, nice. I like that," he purred.

  "Have you had enough to eat? For if you have, I would truly like to get into that bath with you."

  "Yes, please, Isolde."

  She clung to him fiercely as he made love to her in the tub, the buoyancy of the water and the slipperiness of their soaped skin only enhancing the sensations. It was only when the water grew tepid they moved to the bed. He made love to her again with a leisured thoroughness that she struggled hard against, so urgent was her need for him.

  "Slowly, dearest. I’m not leaving, I promise," he murmured against her heated flesh.

  "I can’t help it," she said, lifting his head from her breasts, and trying to pull him up the bed for a kiss. "I want you inside me, now. I feel like I’ll tear the bed apart if I don’t have you."

  He inserted one finger into her and wiggled it. "How about this?"

  She mewed like a kitten and clung onto him more urgently. "More, please."

  He slid the finger up onto her pulsing mound and asked her, "Or this?" before he slid his tongue into her deeply, moving it in and out with a compelling rhythm. He kissed her below as eagerly as if it were her mouth, and then started to nibble at her pearl of pleasure until she groaned torridly.

  The passion flooded through Isolde, leaving the secret cove between her legs pooling with desire. He tasted her urgency; her delicate scent made his loins seize in sensual agony.

  Then he was poised over her thighs, the head of his manhood soon saturated with her fierce need. Keeping his legs outside of her own, he slipped in the tiniest fraction, and back out, and in, until she began to beg anew. He kissed her hard to stifle her desperate pleadings. Pressing his immense length deeply into her, they both reached their pinnacle and collapsed like two spent climbers having reached the summit of bliss.

  At last he rolled them onto their sides, and holding Isolde as though he would never let her go, Randall slept the dreamless sleep of contentment, certain that they had vanquished their enemies at last through the sheer brilliant force of their love.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Randall woke the next morning feeling at last as though all was right with the world. His enemies had tried to destroy his marriage, but he and Isolde had only ended up stronger. Yes, it was a wonderful day, and could only be made better by a loving kiss from his wife.

  He reached out for her, but she was not there. He tried not to panic, but snatched up his dressing gown from the foot of the bed and began to tug it on. Something had awakened him.

  He broke out into a cold sweat.

  A sound of some sort. Yes, there it was again! A soft moan of pain.

  In an instant he was up on his feet and running for the bathroom. He flung the door back on its hinges and saw his wife half-prone on the floor with her head suspended over the watercloset bowl.

  Randall clasped her around her shoulders, but she tried to cower away.

  "I don’t want you to see me like this," she complained, before retching feebly into the toilet once more.

  "It’s all right, darling. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. In sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part, remember?"

  She gave a feeble heave once more, emptying her stomach completely, and then laid back into his warm embrace.

  He ran for her dressing gown, wrapped her in it, and stood her up on her feet. He brought her to the sink, helped her rinse out her mouth and clean her teeth, and washed her face as if she were a small child. He felt almost too awestruck to speak.

  Neither voiced what was both on their minds. It was too frightening, too wondrous. They simply went back to bed, where he held her comfortingly until she made her more rampant desires known. And rampant they most certainly were…

  When the next morning came and Isolde lurched out of the bed again and ran, flooded by an overwhelming wave of nausea, both were sure.

  She lifted her head from the toilet at last and looked at him in confusion. "But it isn’t possible to have green sickness like this so quickly. I mean, I had my monthly a fortnight or so ago, and you’ve only just got back from London. Now I feel like, well…" She shrugged. "Ever since the other day when you and I made love in the ruins of the monastery, I’ve felt something strange deep inside. And last night too. But I couldn’t possibly feel…" She stared at him. "Could I?"

  "Why not? Being in love like this is a miracle. Why not the gift of life? Even I felt something was different when we came home from the fields and went to bed that day. Like we were both, um, glowing."

  She shook her head. "Oh, no, we must be imagining things."

  He smiled at her. "Well, only time will tell. I just hope you’re not going to be ill like this all the time. Not that I mind nursing you, dearest, but you’re rather tempting with that adorable little bottom of yours up in the air. Plus you spending more time in bed gives me all sorts of wicked ideas."<
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  She grinned. "You’re a most naughty man."

  "I’m sorry. But you did say we would be honest."

  She fluttered her long eyelashes at him coyly. "Then I have to admit I don’t mind. Once my stomach is empty, the rest of me becomes starving for the kind of sustenance only you can give."

  She stood up and cleaned her teeth and mouth. Once she was spearmint-fresh tasting, she grasped his hand, led him to the bed, knelt on the mattress, and stuck her rump in the air.

  "Adorable little bottom, didn’t you say?"

  He laughed and spread her legs with the large thumbs of both hands, rubbing her with one while he inserted the other, until Isolde vibrated on the brink of release.