“I hope that you aren’t afraid of me.” He came toward her, and stood brazenly naked in front of her. She glared at him, and then reached for a ribbon to tie back her wayward hair with.
“Of course I do not fear you.”
“Leave it down,” he murmured, coming toward her and pulling her against him. She hung limply in his arms, and groaned, when he tried unfastening her dressing gown.
“Do stop,” she hissed, smacking his hand away. “I need time, and as I said I need to wake up and get into a better mood.”
“Yes, you are right. I was not thinking. Pray forgive me.” He begged, moving back toward her. She smiled as he fell down onto his knees, and he reached for her hand kissing it lightly. She smiled at his tender gesture, and knelt down to kiss his forehead. She kissed the tip of his nose, and she sighed as she met his lips. She was addicted to the man. And, she knew it. For better or for worse, she was his forever. She opened her eyes, and stared into his cobalt blue orbs. She felt her heart begin racing, as she ran her hand through his ebony waves. They fell to the floor.
He opened her dressing gown, and she helped him as she threw it off of herself, and whimpered with pleasure when she felt him nibble at her lower lip, as he sought to gain access. She gave everything she had to him, as she wound her arms around him and brought him down to her. His lips caressed her breasts, as he worshiped one and then the other. They barely spoke as he reached up and untied the ribbon in her hair, and ran his hands through her loose curls.
“Your hair is so beautiful and luxuriously soft,” he murmured softly, as he ravenously kissed her mouth again, and tenderly roamed his hands across the valley between her breasts, only to rest at the juncture of her thighs. She gasped, as his hand touched her there, and she writhed, as she instinctively moved against his hand. She wanted more, so much more. She wanted everything that he could possibly give her. “My sweet Isabella,” he murmured, “I will make you feel like the goddess that you are.” He felt her sweet honey against his hand, and then readied himself, as he slowly entered her, trying to be as gentle as he could. He didn’t want to hurt her again, as he was forced to do the first time. He saw her bite down on her lip in anticipation, and noticed her visibly relax, as she discovered that it was going much better this time around. She moved against him, and began setting the tempo, as he thrust inside of her again, and again, as she moved to meet every thrust. She grasped onto his backside, and wound her legs around him as tightly as she could.
He sighed, and kissed her again, to stifle the scream that he knew gathered inside of her. She trembled as her orgasm raced through her body, and moments later he cried out her name, as he poured his essence into her ready and wanting body. They each tried to regulate their breathing, as he turned them onto their sides, still remaining within her.
“Perhaps, we should use the bed the next time,” she murmured impishly, staring at him with wide and passion filled green eyes.
“Perhaps,” he answered, laughing huskily, and kissing the side of her neck.
“What time is it, do you suppose?” she whispered. She stared over at the sunshine that was streaming through the curtains.
“I don’t care,” he continued to trail his hand up and down her back.
“I want to go to London, as soon as possible.”
“I thought that we could spend some time here first.”
“Without consulting me first,” she reminded him, pouting at him, with her rosy lips. “I miss my family. Aunt Mary shall be expecting me, why she must be fretting over me.”
“Never fear, dearest. I sent a missive to London yesterday, and it should have arrived by now. I told them to not expect us for at least another fortnight.”
“Why you, you should have told me,” she said, punching his shoulder lightly. “You never tell me anything until it is already done. You told me yesterday that you had a surprise for me, and I thought we were done once you presented me with the champagne and the fireworks, and then you brought me here. Well, here is a little something for you to ponder. I hate surprises. Always have. Always will. There is absolutely no security in a surprise. I like security. I continually want to feel safe, and yet I always discover that it is as elusive to me as flying. Don’t stare at me like that,” she informed him, trying to move away from him. “You don’t trust me, I know that. But it hurts me to realize that we can share everything in bed, you are more than happy to share intimacy of our bodies, and yet you won’t even trust me with the simple knowledge of your business affairs, or estate management.”
“You don’t tell me much either,” he whispered, caressing the side of her cheek with his large hand.
“What is there to tell? I escaped from my Uncle’s men, and fled here.”
“I know you escaped on The Bastille. Come, my darling, you must think that I am a complete and utter simpleton. You forget I was there. I saw the full display of your magical powers, you saved me from Boney, and yet you are pretending to forget all of that knowledge. I know that Boney has enlisted you to spy for him. Spooking doesn’t become you, my love.”
“Do you realize what we are doing?” she whispered, a thread of fear present in her voice. “We are fighting yet again. The only time that we don’t disagree is when we are making love.”
“Well, I don’t see a problem with that,” he remarked mischievously, kissing her longingly. “I shall quite enjoy all of the time that we will spend in bed.”
“Insufferable man!” she proclaimed, just as a loud pounding erupted at their door. She looked anxiously around for something to cover herself with, and gratefully took his hand, as he helped her to her feet.
“Climb under the bedclothes,” he suggested, reaching for his dressing gown, and wrapping it around himself. He strode to the door, and was surprised to find his befuddled butler Simmons standing on the other side.
“Pray forgive me, my lord,” he said quickly, his cheeks flaming red.
Christopher successfully blocked any view that he might have of Isabella. Isabella had done as he had suggested, and had taken it to such an extreme that she had even pulled the covers up and around her whole body, including her face.
She was mortified, completely embarrassed to the point of no repair. She had made scandalous love to Christopher, not once but twice. She really had to curtail her behavior and try to act in a decorum manner. She heard him walk out into the hall, and though she was curious to find out what had warranted the untimely interruption, she wasn’t quite bold enough to get out of bed and find out for herself. Well, on the other hand, maybe she was.
She slipped out of the bed, and reached for her nightgown that had almost fallen onto the floor. Once she had slipped it over her head, she walked to the door, and leaned her ear against it.
“I do apologize, my lord, for interrupting you. I realize that you requested your privacy.” Christopher nodded his head at the man. “This missive came for you and the rider will not leave until you answer it. He was even bold enough to tell me to make haste in delivering it.” He absentmindedly took the missive from the older man, and unfolded it. When he recognized the handwriting, he stared at Simmons with a frown on his face.
“You may go, Simmons. I shall call you when I need you.”
“Thank you, very good, my lord.” Simmons said, bowing and walking away.
Christopher eyed the door good naturedly, and then leaned against it, and listened. When he was satisfied that she was in the right place, he opened the door, bumping her forward a few steps. He heard her harrumph, and smiled as she turned around with a sheepish grin across her face.
“I, uh, I dropped something,” she explained quickly, staring at the floor.
“Isabella, it is fine, do not trouble yourself with explanations. In truth, I expected you to eavesdrop,” he stated simply, walking over to the bed, and plunking himself down upon it.
She stared open mouthed at him, crossed her arms defensively across her chest, and slowly went over to him. At the troubled look across his
face, she quickened her steps, and waited by his side, as he wrapped his one arm around her, and pulled her to him. She smiled down at him, and tousled his hair, as she tried to glance over and read the letter that he held in his head.
“We must make haste,” he clipped out, standing up, and briefly hugging her to him. “We have to return to London as quickly as possible.”
“I do not understand. I thought that you just told me that we were staying here for at least another fortnight.”
“I did, but a rather important matter is calling me back to London.” He took his dressing gown off and reached for his clothes. She stared at his naked body, and inhaled deeply. He had a striking physique, and he knew it.
“Whatever is the matter? Nothing serious, I hope?” she inquired, walking over to him, and handing him his shirt. He grabbed it from her, and had it on quicker than it had taken him to discard it in the first place.
“My father has fallen ill with some form of mysterious malady, and I must return to him at once. He has sent for me.”
“Don’t blink, because I will be dressed in the wink of an eye,” she said, staring over at her wardrobe, and running over to it, and throwing it open.
“When we reach London, you can go to a fashionable modiste, and buy some more frocks. I realize that what I purchased for you might not be what you like.” She could tell that he was distracted, for there was a muscle twitching in his cheek.
“Oh, these will certainly do,” she said, reaching for a pale blue carriage dress, and matching pelisse. “I have been muddling along, you see I am not accustomed to getting dressed without a lady’s maid.” She quickly took her nightgown off, and reached for her dress. “You don’t suppose that we will have time for a bath, when we finally reach London?” She began rummaging through the many slippers for a pair that would match her dress, or perhaps she should don travelling boots.
“I completely forgot. I would have a bath drawn, but…” his voice trailed off. She glanced over her shoulder at him and frowned. His father had to be in grave peril. Her heart ached for him, whatever malady ailed his father had to be curable. By the looks of it, his father’s death would greatly distress him.
“It doesn’t matter. I believe that a maid brought in that basin of water earlier this morning, and I used it to wash as much as I could,” she said softly, staring over at him.
“Gather together what you need in the portmanteau, and then we will get you what else you need in London.”
“I have absolutely no idea how to dress my hair,” she murmured sadly, sitting at her dressing table, and staring at the brush. She picked it up, and was surprised when Christopher took it from her, and began moving it through her hair. He was so very gentle that she sighed in contentment. “Weren’t you supposed to answer the missive straightaway?” she asked, looking up at him, and then when she realized what she had said, she placed her hand over her mouth. “Oops.”
“Didn’t you pretend to be offended when I said that you were eavesdropping, for shame, Isabella,” he whispered in her ear. “I thought that we would be ready in time, and that sending back a missive in reply would be pointless. My family will realize that I will come in all possible haste. But do take that wrinkle out of your brow, I shall script a hasty message, and send it with the rider. He will no doubt arrive back at Covington House before we do.” He handed her the brush, as he began fashioning her hair in one single plait down her back.
“What are you doing?” she asked, as he reached for a ribbon and fastened it around her hair.
“You will be beautiful, no matter how you wear your hair, and since we are on a time constraint it is this or you wear it down, because darling, I do not know how to do it any other way, and you already admitted that you do not know how. I would call for one of the maids, but none of them are trained as a lady’s maid, and besides, it would just take us longer getting away. I thought perhaps that we could have some breakfast first while the carriages are being made ready,” he whispered, leaning down and lightly pecking her on the side of the cheek. She really had underestimated her husband.
She had believed him to be an unfeeling selfish cad, and yet, he was the most affectionate husband that a wife could ever hope for.
“I will go downstairs and tell Simmons to have the carriages made ready.” He walked away from the dressing table.
“Wait,” she called out, reaching for her pelisse, and racing toward the door. “I haven’t had a proper tour of the place and if you leave me alone, I could very well find that I am lost.” She slipped into her pelisse and reached for his arm.
“We wouldn’t want that, Isabella. The ghosts of Wyndham Hall might get you, and then, where would we be?” A shiver raced through her at the thought.
“Do not jest about such things. I have enough ghosts in my past that I definitely believe that they may exist.”
“I shall protect you from all of the restless spirits.” He leaned toward her and stared at her with his brilliant blue eyes. She looked away, afraid that she would drown in their depths, and was about to reach for her hastily packed portmanteau, when he noticed what she was doing.
“Leave it. The footmen can attend to it.”
“Of course, silly me,” she sighed, following him out the door.
“You seem unaccustomed to having a houseful of servants.”
“I had a houseful of servants at my Grandmother’s. They seemed to almost come out of the woodwork.” She supplied, not realizing how much information she was giving him. “But in France, I only had Daphne. The other servants were forbidden to interact with me.”
“Daphne,” he sighed. “Yes, I recall her, though vaguely. So I assume that Pierre took her when he snatched you away.”
“Yes.”
“My mother tells me that Daphne helped to keep you safe from the revolutionaries.” He stared over at her, as they walked through the ornate hallways.
“She saved my life, too many times for me to recall. But it was my parents that made the ultimate sacrifice for me.”
“Where is Daphne?” he asked suddenly, causing her to stop walking. He stared behind at her, and then walked back toward her.
“She’s gone,” she murmured heavily, staring up at him, with agonized eyes. Should she tell him the whole story, or would that completely compromise Daphne? He still didn’t completely trust her, because she could tell that he wasn’t telling her everything about his father’s illness.
So, why the bloody hell, should she tell him anything about Daphne?
“Come,” he said softly, taking her gently by the arm. “We shan’t talk of this right now if it upsets you so. I confess that I have had enough upsetting news this morning to last me a lifetime.”
“Upon my word, I do believe that you are right. You are a good man, Christopher. Saving you from the little Corsican was well worth my time and effort. Come to think of it, I haven’t been able to use my magic since I enchanted him—” She clung to him, as he helped her up.
“And, why did you do that? What made you want to help me?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are alive and well, and so am I. We need to live for the moment. We must seize the day!”
“If that’s the way you want play it, I am not going to argue with you. But mark my words, Isabella, I will have the truth someday soon, and when that day comes, you will tell me everything I need to know.”
“I do believe, Christopher, that day might give me a huge amount of relief.”
“Simmons,” he called out, looking for his butler. A kindly elderly man with snow-white hair stepped out into the entryway, and stared appraisingly over at Isabella. Isabella tightened her hold on his hand beneath Simmons penetrating gaze, and then gave him an uncertain smile when he turned to Simmons to make an introduction. “Simmons, this is my wife, Lady Wyndham.”
“Lady Wyndham,” Simmons said softly, bowing to her. She smiled down at him, and chuckled, when she heard the woman that she assumed to be the housekeeper gli
ding out into the entryway.
“Harold, I thought that we had,” she stopped in mid-sentence, placing her hand over her mouth. “I was not aware, I do apologize, my lord,” she murmured, curtsying to Christopher and then staring over in curiosity at Isabella.
“Mrs. Simmons, I would like you to meet my wife, the new Marchioness of Wyndham.”
She curtsied to Isabella, and then stared approvingly at her.
“Isabella, why don’t you go with Mrs. Simmons? She shall take you into the breakfast room, and you can get something to eat before we leave.”
“Come, my lady,” Mrs. Simmons said, beckoning towards her. She stared over at Isabella, as she hesitantly left Christopher’s side.
“Christopher, do not forget to send out that missive,” she reminded him, causing him to flinch. He sent her a reproving glare, and she smiled serenely over at him.
“Do you know Mrs. Simmons, that my husband, is the kindest man alive,” she murmured affectionately, wrapping her arm through the grandmotherly woman’s arm.
Isabella stared over in longing at the grand sideboard of assembled food, and felt her mouth beginning to water. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, and she was unnaturally hungry. She reached for a plate and then stared over in expectation at Mrs. Simmons. “Will you not sit with me?” she asked, reaching for some scrambled eggs and a slice of ham. She stared over at the muffins, and took one of those also. This wasn’t a normal breakfast for her, but she was ever so hungry, and she knew that she had a long ride ahead of her.
“Oh, heavens, no,” Mrs. Simmons replied, taking a step backward.
Isabella was aware that servants never sat at the table with their employers and she also knew that it was unheard of for the housekeeper to be in the breakfast room with her, but she was afraid to be alone in these new surroundings and for that reason alone, she was going to press the issue with Mrs. Simmons. She’d gotten so used to having Daphne around that it would take her some time to distance herself from the servants.
The Duchess and the Spy Page 25