Simon now felt a stirring inside himself. The admission, made so close upon her unflattering statement that he would make as good a father as any other, was far more powerful than it might otherwise have been.
His voice was strangely hoarse as he said, “I realize it is not easy for you to speak of such things to me. But you need never be shamed by your passion. ’Tis human to feel thusly, to want another in that way, to show your feelings.” The very words stirred him as he recalled just how open her reactions to his caresses had been.
She made no answer, only bowed her head, the nape of her neck so pale and vulnerable, so kissable. Simon found himself saying her name again and this time he heard the yearning in his own voice. “Isabelle.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes so very lovely, like damp violets, uncertain, defenseless. “As I said, I would not have your pity.”
He felt his chest tighten. His gaze moved over her face, which was even more beautiful because of this vulnerability. There was a softness in the previously disdainful angle of her head, and in the gentle slope of her shoulders. This was a woman who might welcome a man, might react to his strength with warmth. Simon’s body responded to this thought with a shocking intensity.
Perhaps he had been wrong to be so set on an annulment. Perhaps he and Isabelle could make a life together if they could only get away from this place. Perhaps he was only reasoning this way because he wanted her so desperately. Yet he could summon no will to stop himself.
He heard himself admitting, “I am feeling many things at the moment. I assure you pity is not amongst them.”
Isabelle’s eyes seemed to darken to purple. She whispered, “I do not know…”
His gaze came to rest on those luscious raspberry lips. “I do.” He bent and took them with his own.
Isabelle started, raising her hands to the hard wall of Simon’s chest. She meant to stop him. She didn’t want him now, not after the way he had rejected her with such cold vehemence.
Did she?
But her wayward fingers reached up to curl around the hard curves of his shoulders. Her mouth, traitor that it was, softened under his and her equally traitorous body pressed itself more fully along his solid length.
Simon felt the softening of her mouth with a feeling of exultation. Isabelle would always respond to him this way—as he did to her.
No more would he attempt to fight a force that was greater than the reasons against it.
His hands slipped down her back, molding the sweet curves of her waist and hips. They paused at her hips, holding her against him and she pressed closer to his body, tilting her head back. Simon dipped his head at this invitation, his mouth tracing the line of her jaw, the fragile length of her white neck.
When he flicked his tongue over the pulse at its base she caught her breath. Isabelle felt the swell of longing inside her and tried desperately to gain control of her breathing. Her head was whirling, her body brought to life with only a few kisses.
But there was no wresting control of these feelings. Those feelings…her body, would have its own way in this. Her hands moved to the front of his tunic, gliding over the heavy velvet that only partially disguised hard muscle and bone, but left her frustrated with a longing to touch his smooth skin.
Simon passed a hand up Isabelle’s side, the tips of his fingers brushing over the gentle curve of her breast which was so enticing above the low neckline of that burgundy gown. The gown she had deliberately donned in order to seduce him. The very thought made his blood heat even more.
Isabelle wanted him.
Simon leaned back, looking down at her. She was so beautiful with her eyes heavy with passion, her thick black lashes fringed against her high cheek bones, which were flushed from his kisses.
Isabelle felt Simon’s gaze upon her and glanced up at him through her lashes. She flushed with new heat when she saw the passion in his eyes, which seemed to burn with an inner fire.
She leaned close, her hands trembling on his shoulders as she raised her lips, inviting his kiss. His mouth found hers and they kissed again, with a thoroughness that left both of them breathless.
Her lids were heavy as she looked at him, her cheeks flushed with need. “I want…”
Tendrils of need shot through his lower body. He reached down to lift the hem of the garment over his head in one swift motion. He wanted nothing between himself and this woman, this glorious wanton who drove him to new heights of yearning.
He looked into her eyes, holding them with his own as he lifted her in his arms. She did not break that contact as he carried her to the bed. Slowly he let her go, feeling the length of her against him as she slipped to the floor. Still holding her gaze he reached out to slip the velvet gown up and over her head with the same ease of motion that he had his own garment.
Her shift was made of a fabric so fine that it gave away as much of the sweet form beneath it as it disguised in the light of the fire. Sweat beaded on his brow at the very thought of removing it, of seeing those long lovely legs, her…
Then his heart stopped as Isabelle herself lifted up her arms and pulled the garment over her head. His gaze locked on the shift, which fluttered down in a white cloud to pool on the floor.
He took a deep breath, his gaze moving slowly over those long legs, the slender hips, the narrow indent of her waist and, Saint George grant him strength, the gentle but womanly curves of her high, proud breasts.
Again he met her gaze, saw the uncertainty in it. He reached out to her. “So lovely, Isabelle, so very lovely.”
Heat suffused Isabelle as Simon’s gaze scorched her sensitive flesh. It burned in her belly, her breasts, along every inch of her skin. She felt a trembling in her legs that only seemed to increase with the growing dampness betwixt her thighs.
She went into his arms, her lips soft against his hard male chest. His flesh tingled where her warm breath touched him. His hands found the softness of her slim back, her hips, which seemed made for his hands to hold, the upper curve of her bottom.
Between each eager kiss she placed upon his chest, she whispered his name. “Simon…Simon…Simon…”
He silenced her with his lips even as he lifted her, placing her soft slender form on the bed. He reached up to tug her hair free of the knotted braid at the base of her neck. Then gently, carefully, he worked his fingers through the silken mass causing it to fall forward to her lap.
With trembling fingers he brought a handful to his face to breath in the wildflower scent of it. There was wonder in his voice as he whispered, “I’ve never seen hair the color of yours. It is like burgundy wine. So beautiful, it takes my breath.”
Isabelle shuddered as a shaft of pure sweet longing pierced her lower belly at his words. Weakened by her own desire, she lay back upon the pillows reaching out her arms to him as he bent over her.
But Simon was not yet ready to go into them. He instead dipped his head to her breasts, nuzzling their tender undersides with his lips and cheeks.
Where his mouth and warm breath touched her, she burned, reveling in the feelings that continued to build inside her but yearning for something that lay just beyond her knowledge and experience. Isabelle held her breath. Her head fell backward on her neck with the weight of the hair he had said was beautiful. It was simply too heavy to hold upright with this passion-driven weakness running through her body.
When his lips closed on the tip of her nipple she gasped aloud, her hands going to the back of his head. She did not know what to do, to hold him or push him away for this wanting inside her seemed too much to bear. But her fingers twined in his thick dark hair, pulling him to her.
Again his name escaped her lips and this time it was a plea. “Simon.”
He felt her hands on his back now, urgent and strong. The desperation in her voice told of the intensity of her longing and he knew he could no more wait now than she.
He rose over her, his gaze finding hers again. “Yes, my Isabelle, yes.”
Isabelle watched
him, hearing the promise in his voice with a sob of stark and reckless need.
Simon placed his hand on the silken length of her thigh and her breathing became even shallower. He swallowed as his manhood throbbed. Not since his first experience with a woman had Simon felt so near to becoming unmanned, of not being able to hold himself back from the brink.
Keeping as tight a hold on himself as his aching body would allow, Simon slid his hand around to the inside of her thigh. Isabelle opened to him with no further urging and once again he was forced to pause, to will his breathing to calm, to try desperately to damp down the fire burning in his belly.
He bit his lower lip, moving carefully to place himself between those silky, warm thighs.
When those soft and eager hands reached out to hold his arms, to encourage him, he knew the struggle was done. He slipped into the warmth of her body with only the briefest of hesitation at the boundary of her womanhood. Yet he paused, his breathing more labored than before as he was determined to cause her no unnecessary pain.
Her soft cry of pleasure told him that he need not worry about hurting her.
And when her body rose up beneath him, he rocked forward, finding a rhythm that matched the sharp intake and release of her breath. The ache in his body built to a fever pitch and Simon was lost, drowning in the sensations that rose and expanded inside him.
Isabelle could not breathe, could not think of anything save the sensations that radiated from the place where their bodies joined. They pulsed and grew until she could feel nothing beyond a need that drove her to she knew not what. But it was clear that her body did know, for her body shifted and rose under Simon’s, meeting his thrusts. The sensations grew ever stronger, more compelling, until with a hoarse cry of surprise and unsurpassed joy, a night sky exploded behind her closed eyes, filling her mind, her body, her soul.
When Isabelle stiffened, uttering an inarticulate cry of both surprise and joy, that indescribable spike of need exploded in a fine point of pleasure so intense Simon groaned out loud in ecstasy. His body surged forward meeting hers, pouring into her, his Isabelle, the source of all pleasure.
She lay there beneath him, the stars flashing in her head, her body throbbing so exquisitely that it was difficult to bear. But bear it she did, and even gloried in every rippling streak of light.
At long last, Isabelle opened her eyes and looked up at Simon. There was no reading the expression in those warm brown depths. He seemed…well…different somehow…softer. Or perhaps it was simply the change that she could feel, the vulnerability, inside herself that made him seem so.
Isabelle closed her eyes again and waited. Simon rolled to lie beside her and even then she did not look at him, though she could feel his gaze upon her.
She lifted her arm to shield her face, not wanting him to see her this way. Not understanding what this feeling of having her every emotion bared, her uncertainty, might mean. What they had done, the things he had made her feel, had left her completely open and exposed to this man.
And that she could not accept, especially when she had hope that lying with him would produce just the opposite effect. Simon Warleigh was too much an unknown. He could not be allowed into a position where he might hurt her.
Chapter Ten
Simon became aware of her withdrawal with a jarring sense of disappointment. He told himself his reaction was completely without warrant. He had no one but himself to blame for taking this woman as his wife. Desire had made him mad, the desire that still burned in him even as she pulled away.
Isabelle had made no protestation of affections. She had, in fact, made her feelings clear from the start. That the lovemaking they had shared was the most incredible of his life had no bearing on anything.
Softly he said, “Don’t worry, Isabelle. I understand that this doesn’t mean anything.” His tone firmed, “Yet I would have you know that I will have my child in spite of how things are between the two of us.”
He felt her stiffen. She took a deep breath and lowered her arm from where it covered her face. Those beautiful eyes were emotionless, where only moments ago they had been soft with repletion. “And I understand your feelings, but I ask this one thing of you.”
He raised a questioning dark brow and she said, “I would ask that you do not speak of the future yet.”
He frowned as he realized there was no point in pressing the matter now. He was not yet free to take his reluctant bride home with him. “If that is your wish.” He shrugged. “Am I to take it that it is still your intent to produce a child with me?”
She sat up, looking away. “Yes, of course. I…yes.” She faced him with a defiantly raised chin. “That is my desire and there is nothing amiss in that.”
He nodded. “I did not say there was.” He paused for a long moment. “Well…lest you are already breeding, it will mean that we must…” Simon considered himself something of an experienced man, yet he felt extremely uncomfortable having this unemotional conversation. It was as if their making love again were of no more import than a casual ride about the grounds, when inside him he felt an eagerness that was shocking. He told himself that eagerness was based on his own desire to have a child, an heir, who would love Avington as his father and brother had. As he did.
Her lavender eyes widened. “Do you mean now?”
A jolt of excitement raced through him. Flushing he spoke quickly, “Not necessarily.” Despite her enthusiasm Isabelle had been a virgin. He would not use her ill.
She subsided. Was there disappointment in that gaze or was it his own reaction that made him think so? He tried to cover his own need with civility. “Not unless you wish to.”
She did not look at him. “I…thank you but I…we would not wish to be gone from the keep for too long.”
He grimaced. “Of course.” Simon was reluctant for Kelsey to know when and if she became pregnant. He told himself it was because the man had already made too many demands in that area.
Almost as if she had read his mind, Isabelle said, “I would prefer it if we could keep this to ourselves for the time being.” He watched her and she went on. “I…”
Simon held up a hand. “There is no need to explain. I prefer to keep what we do to ourselves as well.”
Damn Kelsey. Simon realized his having bedded Isabelle meant he would never be completely free of the earl, but he need not have him in his bed. He said, “I propose we agree to meet here again, in this lodge. It does not appear to have been used by your father for some time and he has been amenable to our going riding together.”
She studied her hands with great care. “I shall arrange for clean linens and candles.”
He took a breath. “Very well, then.”
“Yes.” She flicked him a glance. “I should like to dress now.”
He bowed his head. “Of course.” Simon stood, gathering up his own garments. She avoided looking at him and once he was garbed, he said, “I shall fetch the horses.”
Isabelle did not reply.
As he went out into the chill fall afternoon, Simon could not help thinking this had been a very odd morning indeed. He had made love to the most beautiful woman he had ever known and had then spoken of it in a manner so matter-of-fact that it offended his senses.
Yet, if that was the way Isabelle wished for things to be, he would not press her. It was not as if he knew whence this marriage was headed. Once he heard word of the nobles’ reaction to Christian’s father’s letters, then they would have to discuss their relationship, their future. But until then he would abide by his word.
Surely if he and Isabelle could get away from here, from her father, she would begin to warm to him, at least enough to have some semblance of a marriage. Simon shook his head, dismissing an unshakable sense of doubt. There was no need to worry on that until the time came.
Isabelle held her breath until the door closed behind Simon Warleigh. Only then did she expel it in a rush.
Dear heaven above, she thought as she leapt from the bed and to
ok up her clothing with trembling fingers. It had been all she could do to hide her sadness from Simon. He wanted her child, did he? Well, Isabelle had no intention of his having her child. Again she felt a rush of misery. If only he had not made it clear that the babe was his only concern. If only he had said he wanted her.
But he had not, in spite of the fact that they had shared the most astounding moments of her life.
It was, in fact, a complete relief to recall just how things were between them after she had, for those brief moments when their loving was done, felt so exposed. That he had not been moved in the same way as she should not disappoint her. She must think on the fact that Simon was willing to continue to meet her here.
She tried with all her might to believe the level of excitement and anticipation she felt in spite of her regret at his only wanting the child had nothing to do with the force of the passion she had just shared with Simon. Yet she could not deny that she had felt a renewed rush of longing so powerful it shocked her at the thought of being with him again.
Simon himself was so very cool about the whole matter. She must certainly continue to answer his attitude with a similar one.
She threw her cape about her shoulders and with it, her pride. She would take things as they were and live life one moment at a time. If passion could be a part of that, she would also take that, as it came.
There was no more discussion as they mounted and rode toward the castle. It had all been said, but the knowledge that they would be returning soon, and why, hung between them like a spider’s web between two branches, connecting the two of them with surprising tenacity.
When she went to her chamber, Helwys informed Isabelle that her father was expecting her. For a moment a rush of anxiety so intense that it made her knees weak rocked her. Could he have found out about her and Simon?
Quickly she quelled it. Her father could not know what she and Simon had just done. He believed, in fact, that they had already consummated their marriage.
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