The power was dizzying. She had this formidable man at her mercy. As his passions rose, so did hers. She was hot, and only he could relieve the burning need inside her, assuage the ache between her thighs, satisfy the longing to be taken by him and him alone.
Soon his groans filled the room and his fingers wound in her hair, holding her tight. Unused to this motion, her eyes watered and her cheeks ached. But she would not stop for the world. With her own arousal heating her from the inside out, Isobel watched Arend’s unfettered hunger blaze.
Just when she felt his control begin to slip, he cursed and pulled her up his body.
Giddy with power, she let him roll her under him and pepper kisses over her face and breasts.
When he said, his voice thick with passion, “Now it’s my turn to worship you. I’ve been dying for another taste,” she laughed with joy.
She ran her fingers through his thick curls. As he finally took one nipple into his mouth and drew on it, she sighed in relief. The fiercely pleasurable sensation sizzled straight to her core and she couldn’t stay still. Had to move. Had to reach out for something. For Arend.
Her hands gripped his head and held him against her chest as Arend suckled first one nipple, then the other, teasing her until she was frantic with desire. She wanted his lips to go lower. She pulled on his hair.
“Demanding, aren’t we, my lady?” he teased. “Patience. All good things come to those who lie back and enjoy.”
Patience? How could she be patient? “You’re so slow, it’s torture.”
“Silly.” His mouth trailed slowly down her stomach and his lips formed the words against the skin of her belly as he whispered. “You’ll love this torture.”
He was quite right. She loved this form of torture. Her thoughts flashed to the stable and the way he’d touched her there. If that was torture, she could very well become addicted. His clever lips and tongue were lethal.
He stole a look at her through a sweep of black lashes—long enough to cast shadows on his cheeks. “Don’t hold back your cries of pleasure.”
His cheeky smile was disarmingly tender for all its power to enthrall. Yet it was the seductive molten darkness of his eyes that held her spellbound. They were guarded, the shadows hiding all of him from her. In that moment she would have willingly traded the pleasure of her body for the secrets of his soul.
Arend must have sensed her thoughts, because he began in earnest to distract her. His mouth lowered to the curls at the juncture of her thighs and found her heated core. His kisses grew more demanding. His wicked tongue showed no mercy.
Her body arched off the bed as he parted her folds and swept his tongue over the sensitive heart of her intimate center. Fire flashed through her veins. Her knees trembled as she pushed closer, and was rewarded by Arend once again dragging his tongue across the swollen bud of her sex. Her fingers and toes curled in pleasure.
It was the sweetest, most exotic torture, and her body tightened in anticipation of release. To her delight he settled his hands at her hips and set about ruthlessly arousing her, nibbling and sucking with expert thoroughness.
With eyes closed and fingers wound deep in his hair, she allowed the violent firestorm to build. The powerful throbbing of raw sensation took her over, and when his tongue entered her she lost any control at all. Headfirst, he tumbled over the cliff, and the world plummeted from beneath her.
In the distance, someone was sobbing—little mewing cries—and it took her several moments for her to realize the sounds came from her. Arend still pressed kisses against her sex, and the sensation was almost too much to bear.
He finally took pity on her, crawling back up her body to settle between her thighs. She ran her hands over the rippling muscles in his back, excitement tinged with apprehension stirring inside her again.
The moment had come. Soon she would become one with this man, at least in body, and her heart cried out to him.
With his next words he took ownership of that heart.
“For the rest of my life, I will cherish the honor you are bestowing on me,” he murmured. “I’m not worthy, but I will do everything in my power to ensure you enjoy the experience, and never regret your choice.”
Then he kissed her so gently, so softly, and so reverently that she melted. Why could he not see what a wonderful man he was?
“No regrets,” she said, and meant it. She wanted him. Wanted to share herself with him. She could not imagine ever sharing something so wonderfully personal with any other man.
When he began kissing her again she was hardly aware of his hard thickness probing her cleft. But soon she could not ignore the heavy intrusion, the burgeoning pressure that made her breath catch in her throat.
Slowly, surely, he inched deeper into her body, withdrawing a little and then continuing his invasion.
“Relax, my darling girl,” he crooned. “It will pinch, but only for a moment.” And he flexed his hips forward in one smooth movement.
Her body froze as a sharp pain seared her insides, and a little cry escaped her lips as he pushed her legs further apart to penetrate to the hilt.
He rained kisses all over her face, her eyelids, nose and lips, as he held still, seated deep within her body. The pain, at first bright and sharp, ebbed, and then eased into a not unpleasant sense of fullness.
“Are you all right?” he asked between gritted teeth.
To ease the guilt in his eyes, she nodded, and then moved her hips, drawing him deeper inside her. “It was as you said, a mere pinch.” She wrapped her arms round his shoulders. “Now, make it better.”
He began to move, and she loved the feel of him deep inside her body. He withdrew and then slowly slid back, withdrew, slid back, creating a delicious friction that only increased her exquisite pleasure. Humming with delight, she let her natural instincts take over, moving her hips, rising to meet his every thrust.
He obviously approved, groaning and kissing her deeply.
The heat of him inside her, his closeness, their intimacy, opened her heart fully to him. No other man, Isobel was sure, would ever make her feel this way. Something inside her quivered, soared. Her heart exploded with love for him, and when he began to pound into her she clung to him tighter and let the burning pleasure rise.
He stopped kissing her and just looked into her eyes as his hand slipped between their bodies. Then he found the little hardened sensitive nub and stroked.
She seized hold of the fire that blazed within his eyes and let the hungry pleasure fill her. His face went hard and his shoulders strained as he held himself over her. A glorious warmth spread through her limbs as the flame of desire turned into a raging inferno.
“Don’t hold back,” Arend whispered hoarsely. “Let me hear your cries.”
Only then did she realize the wanton sounds of urgency and need that filled the dimly lit bedchamber were of her making.
She tried to hold his gaze, loving the desire and need she saw there, but she could not. When the shattering climax caught her, when its power swept her up in a crescendo of brilliant stars, her eyes went blind. Her limbs strained, went taut, and she choked back a sob at the intensity of her release, at the emotions tearing in her breast.
“Si pure, si belle,” Arend groaned. His body convulsed with explosive passion, and he pulled out of her body to empty his seed over her stomach in shuddering pulses. When he was finished, he gave one last groan and dropped down beside her on his stomach.
Isobel couldn’t get her thoughts together. Never had she expected sex to be so moving, so emotional. Now she knew why some called it “making love.” She’d poured her heart into this joining. She just wished she had enough experience to know if Arend had done so too. Or was her euphoria simply because this was her first time and she was overwhelmed by the sensations?
He lay on his stomach beside her, his breathing still ragged, while she reclined next to him on the bed, running her hands over his back, stroking him, willing him to say how amazing the experience had be
en.
As her hand swept the top of his buttocks she felt a roughness beneath her fingers. Her fingers traced around the mark in circles as she tried to make it out. It appeared to be a circle, which was strange. A perfect scar.
“What is this strange mark?” she said, and lightly touched the scar.
Under her hand, his muscles spasmed. Then, with a violent oath, he rolled over onto his back as if it were on fire and he needed to smother the flames.
“Don’t touch it,” he growled, and then lunged off the bed and away from her as if the devil were after him.
For what seemed like forever, he paced the floor, gloriously naked, running a hand over his face and muttering in French.
Then he stopped. Straightened his shoulders. “This,” he said in a voice like ice, “was a mistake. Dress. I will see you home.”
Her heart plummeted at the coldness of his tone. What had happened? Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? But how was she to know he’d be so sensitive about a scar?
His silence shredded and tore at her like a blunt knife as he pulled on his own clothes and then helped her dress. All the progress they’d made, all she’d hoped for from that night, disappeared. They were more estranged than before.
All because of a little scar.
Chapter 15
After a sleepless night filled with self-loathing, Arend finally managed to drag himself downstairs. No matter how he felt, he, Maitland, and Isobel had an appointment to visit the bank. There was no way he could excuse himself from the meeting, but God knew how he was going to face Isobel.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Too deep in his own thoughts, Arend could barely summon up the effort to acknowledge Jeeves’s greeting. What the hell was wrong with him? What kind of man—after a woman had gifted him with the most memorable and special night of his life—practically threw her out of his bed and his house?
The butler cleared his throat. “Please assure Lady Isobel that the staff are ready to make any changes she wishes.”
After last night, the only thing Lady Isobel probably wanted was to castrate him. “I’m not sure that the staff should set their hopes on Lady Isobel’s continuing our engagement.”
Jeeves’s face expressed a blend of distress, compassion, and hope before signaling the disapproval of an old servant with special privileges.
“I hope you have done nothing to upset such a lovely lady, my lord. She would make a wonderful Lady Labourd.”
There was nothing Arend could say that would not make him either a liar or a lout, so he gave a terse nod of acknowledgment and continued out of the house.
He’d done more than upset Isobel. But what choice had he? His past could not see the light of day; if it did, he might lose everything.
Isobel had asked the one question he could not face. How could he tell her the brand seared into his flesh was Juliette’s way of proclaiming her ownership of his body and soul? Until the day he died he would carry a physical reminder of what he had become.
—
Arend’s carriage had scarcely drawn to a halt in front of Maitland’s home before both the Duke and Isobel were descending the steps to meet him.
Isobel, to his surprise, was neither coldly polite nor withdrawn. She even gave him a tentative smile. He merely nodded in reply, shame knotting in his gut and freezing it solid. The distance between them was for the best.
Maitland didn’t seem to notice the strained atmosphere.
Once at the bank, Arend retired into the background as Maitland commandeered the bank manager’s attention and Isobel explained her fears for her stepmother.
The manager could not do enough to help Lady Isobel and the Duke of Lyttleton when he heard that Lady Victoria Northumberland might have been kidnapped. He assured Maitland that His Grace could leave everything in his personal charge. He was the soul of discretion. He would send word immediately to His Grace should he hear from Lady Northumberland or should any request for payment arrive at the bank. In fact, a letter had just arrived—
Arend stopped wishing the man would shut up and studied the letter over Maitland’s shoulder.
It was a request from Lady Victoria for the bank to send funds to Deal, in Kent. Deal was a well-known smugglers’ stronghold from which to take unseen passage to France.
At last they had a strong clue to her whereabouts.
In the end, Arend left Maitland at the bank to have a thorough look at Victoria’s bank correspondence, and drove Isobel back to Marisa.
It was a silent drive. She had hardly looked his way since he had been so brusque at their first meeting that morning. But what was there to say? He knew he’d hurt her. He had no excuse. When she had touched Juliette’s brand and asked how he had gotten the mark, he’d lashed out in anger, fear, and disgust. He could not risk such a thing happening again.
When they arrived at the house, Arend handed Isobel down from the carriage. To his surprise, she turned to him, bright-eyed. “I’m so excited. We know where she is hiding.”
“Perhaps. I suspect, like the wild-goose chase she led Hadley on, our information might not be as straightforward as we think.”
He looked at her flushed cheeks and cautious smile, and his heart did that somersault thing he hated. Even with the scar marring her face she was beautiful. He would miss her smile when this was all over. His heart almost stopped on that thought. He would miss her.
His body clenched so hard with desire that it took his breath. The violence of his need to sink into her sweet, tight heat scared him.
Isobel didn’t seem to know what fear was. She slipped her tiny hand into his and began to pull him up the steps and toward the door.
“At least we have somewhere to look,” she said. “We can start in Deal. Come in, Arend. There is much to organize.”
Her excitement was contagious. He didn’t want to burst her bubble of joy, but there was no way he would allow her to accompany them to Deal.
It wasn’t only the danger that concerned him. It was his self-preservation. If he was to have a hope of walking away from this engagement, he could not sleep with her again. The risk of getting her with child increased, but even that was not his main concern. Arend knew that if he made love to Isobel again, he might not have the strength to leave.
Brunton greeted them in the hall. Arend was about to remove his hat and gloves when Isobel said, “Brunton, where is Her Grace?”
“She was called to Lord Blackwood’s,” Brunton said gravely.
Isobel’s smile faded. “I hope nothing is wrong.”
“I couldn’t say, my lady, but I believe it did have something to do with Lady Blackwood. When Her Grace received the note, she seemed very upset. She sent a missive to His Grace.”
Isobel looked at Arend. “We must have crossed paths.”
“She left only a few minutes ago,” Brunton said.
“It can’t be the baby, can it? She’s only six months gone.”
Isobel’s eyes started to shimmer, and she snatched up her cloak before a servant could take it away. “Arend, may I use your carriage?”
“Of course.” Relief that he wouldn’t have to refuse to take her to Deal was tempered by his concern for Portia. But he was of more use elsewhere. Even if he accompanied Isobel to Grayson’s home, he could do nothing to help Portia.
Grayson and Maitland would be tied up with this emergency. He needed to get to Hadley, Sebastian, and Christian, and then to Deal, posthaste.
“Just let me send a note to the others,” he told her. “Then I’ll take you on my way to Hadley’s.”
She stared at him. “You’re not coming in with me to see Portia?”
“I would feel useless.”
“I see.” Then she stiffened. “You’re going to Deal…without me.” When he remained silent, her eyes narrowed. “You never had any intention of taking me.” Her voice cracked, but dashes of angry red slashed across her cheekbones. “Why?”
“It will be too dangerous.”
&n
bsp; “Is that the only reason?”
He could not hold her furious gaze.
“Oh my God.” She spun away from him, her shoulders hunched, and he could tell she was holding back tears. “You still don’t trust me. How could you make love—?”
She glanced sideways as if she’d suddenly remembered Brunton, who was trying to fade into the wall. “Well, you certainly had me fooled.” Her shoulders straightened. “I don’t have time for this. I need to leave. Brunton, please hail a hackney for Lord Labourd. I’m confiscating his carriage. Marisa needs me.”
Marisa? “You mean Portia needs you.”
“Both of them need me.” She gave him a pitying look. “You are such a man. Marisa can’t have children. She’s been living for Portia’s baby to arrive, as she’s going to be godmother again. She’ll be just as devastated as Portia and Grayson if they lose this child.”
She swallowed and turned away. “I can’t imagine how awful it would be to carry a child for so many months and then to lose it.”
Nor could he. “I hope you never find out.”
“I won’t.” She spun to face him. Her eyes swam with tears, but now pure strength gilded her features. “I’ll never have a child because I’ll never marry.”
Of course she would. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d make a wonderful mother, and you need a man to—”
“To what?” she snapped. “Take care of me? I have more than enough money. Break my heart? Too late. The man I gave my heart to will never love me. He doesn’t know how, because he locks up his feelings, afraid he’ll be hurt or disappointed. He’s a coward.”
And she stalked down the steps into his carriage and probably out of his life, leaving her harsh words ringing in his ears.
She would never forgive him for not taking her to Deal. She believed it was because he didn’t trust her. It was quite the opposite. He didn’t trust himself. Not with her. One more night in her arms, and he would never be able to let her go.
A Night of Forever Page 20