“Shall we?” Marshall rose.
Isabelle nodded woodenly. As soon as she could, she would collect Lily and get as far away from Marshall — and this disastrous house party — as possible.
He led her behind the greenhouse to another worktable pushed up against the glass wall. Gloves and spades occupied a wooden box standing on one corner. Marshall retrieved a stack of pots from beneath the table.
At his instruction, Isabelle pulled on a pair of gloves and started filling the pots with soil from a bin at the end of the table. As she worked, the knots of tension in her shoulders relaxed. The breeze played across her face and neck; loose strands of hair tickled her skin. She tamped down on some soil, and glanced up at Marshall. He was watching her again, his eyes heavy-lidded and a small curve crinkling the corners of his mouth.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked.
“When we were married,” he said in a low voice, “I never would have imagined mucking around in the dirt with you.”
The sentiment provoked a small laugh. “And I couldn’t have imagined spending a day in the kitchen with you.”
“I didn’t even know you cooked,” Marshall protested. “I might have joined you for some,” he waved a hand, “recreational culinary undertaking, had I known my wife could hold her own against the French chefs the ton dotes over.”
Isabelle lowered her eyes. Hearing the word “wife” come from him was like a knife to the heart.
“It wasn’t very long, was it?” His soft words were a caress, instantly soothing the hurt of his previous remark.
Isabelle looked up into his dark eyes. They smoldered like embers ready to flare up at the smallest breath of air or bit of tinder.
“No,” she agreed, “it wasn’t.” She clamped her teeth onto her suddenly trembling lip.
Marshall did not look at her with the scorn she was accustomed to when the topic of her supposed infidelity arose. Rather, his expression was sympathetic and warm, and — it was probably just her jumbled emotions wishing for something that wasn’t there at all, but his eyes seemed to convey wanting, as well.
“We had last night,” he said in a husky voice. He ducked his head and lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “And today, Isabelle.”
He stroked her chin lightly with his thumb. Isabelle felt like she was falling into the depths of his mesmerizing eyes. He tipped her chin up a little more and lightly covered her mouth with his own, a tender greeting. Then his tongue traced across her bottom lip. Little sparks of pleasure shot up her spine.
Alarm bells clanged in her mind, urging her to run away from this man — but it was already too late, and she knew it. As she opened her mouth, willingly deepening the kiss, she felt her reckless heart likewise opening to let him inside once more. She was being foolish. He would hurt her again. But her own silent protests found themselves drowned out by her hammering heart and the blood rushing in her ears.
Without breaking the kiss, she pulled off her gloves and buried her fingers in the thick waves of his hair. Meanwhile, Marshall worked the buttons of her smock. He lifted his head and shot her a smoldering look. Isabelle returned his seductive glance, gratified to know she was not the only one so affected by their kiss.
Marshall turned to the worktable. “Take that off,” he directed, kneeling to pull a folded canvas tarp from beneath the table.
Isabelle felt the slightest bit wicked as she pulled the smock from her arms, though she was still dressed in all her clothes.
“Come.” Marshall’s hand clamped possessively around hers as he led her a few yards to the edge of the clearing, where he spread the tarp in the shade of a towering elm. He rested his hands on her waist and squeezed. “What do you say, Isabelle? Do we have today?”
She dropped her forehead against his firm chest while she tried to pick through her tangled emotions. Isabelle knew she was dangerously, unwisely close to tumbling into love with him again. But here he was, wanting her like he used to. And that part of it felt so right.
He drew her into a close embrace, molding her soft curves against his unyielding, masculine body. “It was always so good between us,” he murmured against her ear. She shivered at the feel of his rumbling voice. “We had a little taste of it last night. Don’t you wonder?”
She nodded weakly, the thrumming desire already reducing her mental faculties to porridge. “I do.”
He cupped his hands over her bottom and tugged her hard against his arousal. “Then let’s satisfy our curiosity.”
She felt a brief worry that this might be just a game to him, but then his hands slid up her sides and claimed her breasts, and the storm of sensation building inside her overwhelmed all her misgivings.
Last night, Isabelle had neither seen nor touched enough of Marshall to slake her thirst. Now, she slipped her hands under the hem of his tunic and ran her fingers up his bare back; his skin was like warm suede. She lightly pulled her nails back down his spine. He lifted his head and made a sound like a satisfied lion before pulling the tunic off and tossing it to the grass. Isabelle stepped back to admire him. Instantly, she was drawn to the scar on his right side where he’d been wounded in the war. Had things gone worse for him then, she never would have known him at all. Fierce protectiveness blazed against the unbearable thought.
Her eyes roved his muscled shoulders and chest, with its light covering of dark hair, down to his tapered waist. A trail of hair leading from his flat stomach disappeared inside his trousers. The thought of following that trail was deliciously erotic.
She laid a hand against his hard chest, then rested her cheek beside it and drank in his scent: clean earth and his own, natural maleness. The heady smell went straight to her brain like the strongest brandy. Her lips brushed his skin while her fingers roamed, finding his nipple and lightly raking it. He drew a sharp breath.
Knowing she aroused him fed Isabelle’s own lust. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tender. Aching need built between her thighs.
Marshall pulled her closer and unfastened the buttons running down the back of her dress. With a little encouragement, it fell to the tarp in a soft heap. While she stepped free of it, he worked on the ribbon at the neck of her chemise.
“I have to see you,” he said urgently, feathering kisses over her neck and shoulders between words. “All of you.”
Isabelle could scarcely believe the effect she had on him. For years, being a woman had made the sin of her divorce all the more shameful — Marshall had not suffered for the very same divorce the way she had. Now, being a woman seemed the finest thing in the world. She felt a heady rush of her own feminine power as the solid, heavy evidence of Marshall’s arousal strained against his trousers.
Soon, she’d been divested of her chemise. Her slippers and stockings followed. Marshall pulled the pins from her hair. It fell over her bare shoulders in a golden cascade and brushed the tops of her breasts.
She felt very exposed standing naked in front of him out in the open under the light of day. Isabelle’s eyelids fluttered.
“God, look at you,” Marshall breathed, bare wonder in his eyes. “More beautiful than ever.” He put a hand at her nape and drew her into a long, erotic kiss.
The feeling of his skin melting against hers was pure bliss. She ran her hands freely across his back and brushed her breasts against his chest. The soft curls there teased her sensitized nipples, driving her mad with wanting.
Marshall scooped her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, then gently lowered her to the tarp. He removed his boots and peeled off his trousers. Isabelle drew a breath. His body was a vision of raw male power, all muscles and hard planes. She looked to the place where his manhood stood out from a thatch of dark hair, long and hard, and bit her lip as a fresh wave of desire washed over her. Allowing her gaze to drift lower, she saw that his thighs were thicker than they
’d been a few years ago, more heavily muscled and defined.
He stretched alongside and kissed her, his large hand sliding over her skin. She responded freely, reveling in the mutual exploration. He hooked his left hand behind her neck, while the right lingered first over one breast, and then the other. Then he broke away from their kiss and replaced his fingers with his mouth. She gasped at the warm play of his tongue as he suckled; her back bowed upward, flagrantly offering more. His hand caressed her belly and grazed her thighs.
He lifted his head. The cool breeze over her wet nipple sent shivers up her spine. “So soft,” he murmured.
His hand eased between her thighs and stroked gently at her slick entrance. Isabelle instinctively clenched her muscles. “Relax, sweetheart.” He lightly worked over her, parting and teasing. His fingers, dewy with her wetness, found her sensitive nub and circled it. The touch ripped a moan from her throat.
One deft finger slipped inside. A second finger joined the first, stretching her inner walls. His thumb caressed her nub, sending sparks flying through her body, straight to her breasts and up the back of her neck. Pressure built in her belly. Marshall’s tongue traced whorled patterns around one nipple and then the other. Firm lips seared kisses down her belly and to the top of her damp curls.
He nuzzled his nose into her hair there. “You smell so good, Isa.”
She what? Startled, her eyes flew wide. Embarrassment sliced through her at the sight of his face right there. “Come back up here and kiss me,” she panted, gesturing with her hand.
He gave her an impish smile. “Kiss you, I shall, my love.”
Large hands pressed her thighs apart. Before she could protest again, his tongue lapped up her cleft, swirled at her apex, and then dipped inside. “Marshall!” she cried. The slightly rough texture of his tongue provided a whole new pleasant sensation.
“Do you like this?”
The rumble of his voice against her nether lips sent her soaring. “Yes,” she panted. “Oh, yes!”
His fingers drove inside again, while he flicked her nub with his tongue. Her hands scrabbled at her sides, clawed at his hair. Her thighs clamped tight. The sweet torture was too much. She came apart in his hands and mouth, crying out as her climax tore through her.
Suddenly, his mouth covered hers, and he swallowed the last of her cries.
Marshall positioned himself between her legs and paused with the blunt tip of his staff pressing heavily against her. “I want you so much,” he rasped.
She wrapped her legs around his thighs, grasped his hard buttocks, and pulled him forward. He entered her slowly, easing in and out until he was buried completely. His eyes went hazy and he groaned.
The sensation of being filled by him was just so delicious. His presence surrounded and permeated her. God, had anything ever felt so right? Her arms reached over her head along the cool tarp. Marshall caught her hands; their fingers twined together. Then he started to move inside her, slowly at first, a gentle rocking back and forth. Isabelle reveled in the weight of his large body pressed against hers.
Marshall propped up on his elbows — caging her in — and devoured her mouth with a ravenous kiss. “You’re perfection,” he breathed against her ear. “So damn good, Isabelle. I knew it would be. You’ve always made me feel … so … good.”
Isabelle thought her heart would burst. She took his face in her hands. “Just like I remember … oh!” The pace of his thrusting increased. There were no more words for Isabelle, just the heat mounting again between her thighs.
She tightened the grip of her legs and arms around him, barely noticing the whimpers and soft cries she made. She met his demanding pace, lifting to meet every thrust. He was driving them both to the brink. And then she was over the edge and beyond, as a jolt of pure, brilliant sensation erupted inside her and shattered into a thousand shards of sunlight.
An instant later, a roar tore from Marshall’s throat. She was flooded with his warmth, and in that instant, the love she’d felt for him as a young bride roared back to full life. With a final thrust, he shuddered and collapsed atop her, sated and panting.
Isabelle languidly stroked his damp back. He kissed her temple and rolled off, breaking their intimate joining. She protested with a whimper.
“Ah, sweet girl.” Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her against his damp chest. “Let a man recover, won’t you?”
She snuggled against him and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. His skin smelled musky. Her tongue darted out and tasted the slight tang of salt. Isabelle noticed every sensation, jealously hoarding them away in her memory. In the years that had passed since the last time they’d been together, she’d forgotten how amazing it was between them; she vowed not to forget again.
She wished she could cocoon herself in this moment forever. The warm sun washed over her and the comfortable weight of Marshall’s arms kept her snug against him. Though a niggling voice in the back of her mind warned her to get up and be done with him, she burrowed deeper into his embrace and sighed contentedly, instead.
She must have dozed off then, for she returned to awareness with a soft tickle at her side.
“Sweetheart?” Marshall murmured. “Are you awake?”
Her eyelids fluttered. “I am now. Sorry.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t realize I’m so deadly dull as to bore you into insensibility.”
At the warmth in his expression, Isabelle’s heart kicked. “You did not bore me to sleep, Marshall.”
“Darling, you’re blushing. Don’t tell me you’ve turned maidenly now, not after the luscious vixen I so recently encountered.” He playfully pinched her bottom. She giggled, enjoying their banter. Maybe things would be different now, after all. Maybe their coupling had meant as much to Marshall as it had to her.
She turned onto her left side again and let her eyelids drift closed. Marshall idly ran a hand up her flank and chest. Isabelle relished the simple delight of his touch. Each pass of his fingers left a mark that scorched its way to her soul, more memories to cling to and examine later.
His hand paused below her right breast, his fingers pressed into the skin. She felt his whole body stiffen.
“What is this?”
“Hmm?” She opened her eyes again and rolled onto her back. Marshall’s hand followed, probing harder against her side. His brows knit together, as though he was thinking very hard about what his fingers had discovered.
“Isabelle, what is this place on your side?” The gentle banter had vanished from his tone.
“Oh, the lump, you mean?” She’d lived with it for so long now, she scarcely thought about it. “That’s where I broke my rib when I fell off of Davey Boy that day.” At the dark expression that crossed his face, she hurried, “It doesn’t hurt. The bone healed, just not evenly.”
He laid his hand flat over the place where she’d been injured, then squeezed lightly. As his fingers again encountered the lump in her rib, Marshall grimaced. He suddenly looked so sad. Her heart lurched at his concern on her behalf.
Without thinking, she lifted her head and kissed him.
He pulled back as though startled, his expression growing more serious.
“Don’t tell me you’re turning maidenly,” Isabelle ventured, hoping to regain their easiness.
Marshall shook his head. “Isabelle … ” Something in his voice made her nervous.
He sat up and held a hand out for her. Her hopes faltered and crashed back to earth at the impersonal civility of the gesture. Whatever affection he’d expressed this afternoon must have only been his male urges talking. Now that they’d been satisfied, she already felt him receding from her. He gathered her clothes. She desperately searched his face for any remnant of emotion as he handed them to her. He met her gaze dispassionately.
Isabelle turned her back and dressed as best she could, wh
ile unshed tears burned her eyes. What a fool she was! She silently berated herself while she wrestled with her dress.
“Allow me.” Marshall’s voice held a modicum of tenderness, but he was a gentleman, after all, and undoubtedly did as much for any of his paramours. She stood ramrod straight while he fastened the buttons.
When he finished, Marshall gave her shoulders a little squeeze. Isabelle wrested away from his touch. She retrieved her slippers and stood on one foot to put one on and then the other, shaking so badly she nearly fell over. Marshall steadied her with a hand on her elbow.
“Isabelle?”
She looked up at him. Dressed once more in his gardening garb, he looked every bit as handsome and composed as he had a couple hours ago, before her heart had been turned inside out. He blinked and opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again.
She wanted to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him until the warmth returned. She wanted to drag him back to the tarp and spend the whole day making love. She wanted to pretend their divorce never happened. But he didn’t. It had been nothing more than a diversion for him.
“I can’t do this again.” It was a small victory that her voice trembled only a little.
She shook her head, turned, and ran all the way back to the house. She couldn’t let him destroy her again. Time to collect Lily, go back to London, and forget Marshall Lockwood existed.
Chapter Eleven
“The provisions, Your Grace?” Perkins said.
Marshall blinked. His secretary held the list toward him with an expectant look on his face.
“Oh, yes,” Marshall said. “Thank you. Put it there.” He gestured to a pile of papers on his desk. “I’ll look over it later.” He cast around and picked up a book sitting on the corner of the desk. “After I sign these things.” He distractedly flipped through an atlas of South America.
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