"What time did you say the coach was leaving?" he demanded suddenly.
Parkins shot him an alarmed look and swivelled around to look at the large carved oaken clock mounted high on the wall.
"Not for another hour at least."
"Hell and damnation." He took a morose gulp now, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. After a long, louring silence, he said, "No, she wouldn't.... But even if she's tempted, we'll be there long before anything can really happen."
Parkins blinked. "Well, it only takes me a minute--"
"Damn your eyes, Parkins, enough!" Howell barked, slamming the side of his clenched fist down on the table.
"I was only saying--"
"Well, don't! Not another word."
"Fine." Parkins sipped in silence for a time, until a crack of thunder startled them both.
"Odd time of year for it," Howell said, gazing up at the rafters in surprise as the rumble died away like an animal in the throes of its last agony.
"The Farmer's Almanac did give out bad storms. Crops ruined, roads washed away..."
He trailed off into silence once more as Chauncey glared at him.
"I'm just saying--"
"Well, don't. Drink your ale and have done with your chatter, or by God I'll--"
"Fine, fine. Why don't we go over the plan again," he suggested quickly, "so I'll be word perfect when we get there. If I can remember the words. And if we get there."
Howell slammed down the tankard, his beer fountaining all over the table. "Chauncey, that was such a waste," Parkins dared to protest, "and with blunt so hard to come by until you get the Clarence girl to marry you and sign over her fortune""-Where are you going?"
"To see if we can rent a private carriage."
"But Chauncey, the money," Parkins wailed. "We haven't got a thing until--"
Howell spun on his heel and grabbed Parkins by the lapels. "Go see your father. Tell him he'll get it back with interest as soon as Fanny Clarence and I are wed. By God, I've waited too long for my revenge, and to bring that bitch Isolde to her knees. I'll not be balked now."
"Y-y-es, C-C-Chauncey, whatever you say," Parkins stammered, never having seen his companion so beside himself. "You see to a vehicle, and I'll see to the money." He stepped out into the teeming raining, was about to open his mouth when he caught Howell's eye.
Wisely, he remained silent in the face of his friend's enormous ire, and hurried towards his home and the hidden housekeeping money as if the hounds of hell were after him.
Chapter Five
Isolde was so inflamed with ardor that she had little idea of where she was other than in the Earl of Hazelmere's arms. And far from feeling any shame over the fact that she was on her knees in front of him, pressed chest to chest against his long lean body as he stood next to the bed where he had carried her, Isolde's body ached eagerly for even more bliss.
Strangely enough, she had no fear of what she knew she was inciting to happen. Better to be the Earl's lover, than Howell's. And certainly not for any mercenary reason. If this was to be her only night of love before she resigned herself to poor spinsterhood, better to experience the pleasure a worldly man like this rake could give her, than the arrogant ill-usage of the brutish Chauncey.
Her mother had explained the nature of conjugal relations to her when she had turned into a young woman with monthlies. Her mother had said that she had had a happy marriage herself, and that Isolde should try to do her duty joyfully.
She had said that men got great pleasure from a generous and compassionate woman, for their natures were not as those of women. Men were all aggression, thrusting, competing, and wanted a woman who would be soft and yielding. The more powerful the man, the stronger his appetites, she had said with a blush. Which is why the appreciated a woman who wanted to give them pleasure, instead of take it.
Isolde could well believe in men's prodigious appetites now, for the Earl was quivering with barely suppressed passion as he began to shrug out of his elegant evening garb, so well-cut it fit him like a second skin.
For his own part, Randall felt like a man possessed. What was it about this dainty little Bird of Paradise that set him so alight? Randall wondered as he rocked his hips back and forth against the cradle of yielding body.
Did she really have some special as yet undiscovered talent to descry in order to win his bet at the club? Or was it the combination of innocence and wonder which he found so erotic?
She clung to him, her head to his chest. As his shirt buttons flew in every direction, she reach out to plant a hand on the firm, crisply-haired chest. A moment later, she was teasing his nipple with eager fascination, watching it tauten even as her own crested.
His loins surged desperately as she caressed him, testing his warm flesh as though to explore every inch of it with wide-eyed wonder. Still maintaining the illusion that she was The Eternal Virgin, he was gentle as he laid her down upon the bed, and slowly began to seek an opening in her own clothing as well.
Soon she was in nothing more than her chemise, yet still she made no protest, showed no hesitation as to what would happen next.
Well, not all women dreaded their first time, he reflected, before reminding himself impatiently that it was all an act.
Yet still he hesitated, feeling a strange weighty sensation in his limbs. It was as if he were on the brink of something so momentous....
He shook his head and stayed her hand before it reached the waistband of his breeches.
"There's no need to hurry. We have all the time you want or need."
"I can't help it," Isolde confessed. "I don't know what kind of woman this makes me, but I, well, I want you more than I ever thought it possible to ache for any man. I mean, I know such things exist in novels. And, well, women wouldn't, er, allow themselves to be ruined if it were not a heady experience indeed," she added shyly as she continued to caress his chest and bicep with wide-eyed wonder.
He smiled slightly, but said in a serious tone, "No, indeed. It is a most powerful experience, though best when shared. I admire your honesty, and most certainly want to share with you, so long as you're certain this is what you wish."
Her only reply was to shut her eyes tightly, and with a deep breath, she cast her chemise over her head and nestle full length against his side. Then she dared to open her eyes, and gazed up at him with such a look of earnest desire that his struggles melted away.
Now his own hands began to divest himself of the rest of his garments without another moment's hesitation.
Once he too was bare, he kissed her on her pliant lips, then began to work his way down her body, each kiss more delectable than the next. He licked and nuzzled until at last he ended her quaking suspense and fastened his lips on the peak of one aching breast. She gasped, and felt her whole body opening to him. Gentle warmth radiated outwards as she cradled his head against her.
Her flesh was delightfully sweet and succulent, delightfully pink and pert. Once again, he thought what a consummate actress she was, but she certainly had a body most suited to the role, tight, firm, all woman. She arched her back to move even closer to him, and he now moved over to her other breast to give it the same intent worship.
It had been some time, though not so long that he should be so aquiver with such towering desire. But the light fragrance of rose petals which clung to her, innocent yet heady, clean and fresh, drove him on inexplicably.
For it was sultry too, he thought, dipping his nose into her fragrant cleavage for a second before returning to the first breast to nip and tease it.
"Oh my," she panted, her fingers twining in his thick dark hair to deepen the contact.
He became even more excited by the lush ripeness of her body, her small pants of delight, the sense of wonder that radiated from her as he let his hand slowly slide down her bare thigh to feel her opening to him fully.
This was what he had dreamt of that very evening, a passionate love so sublime that there was no holding back. Isolde was trusting
him with her body in a complete surrender he had never encountered before. All the other women he had been with had had an agenda, some plan or scheme to manipulate. She was here by choice, and simply because, as she had admitted, and her body was telling him eloquently, she simply couldn't help herself.
His usual type of woman rarely ever touched him affectionately. Certainly they never caressed him as heatedly as this. They were predatory, not tender. Yet this girl seemed to long to share her innermost self with him intimately.
He wondered what his life would have been like if his fantasy were true. If she were a gently brought up daughter of the minor aristocracy, sheltered, respected, innocent of the ways of the world, and they had met in a fashionable drawingroom...
The fantasy took over, and Randall imagined himself paying court to Isolde, sipping tea with her, going riding, attending a ball, and as they got to know each other better, the longing looks would turn to long, tempestuous loving...
Over his massive chest, down his hard abdomen, and back up over his silk hair, her fingers explored, teased, drove him ever onwards. He began to peel off the rest of her garments, starting with her shoes, then her surprisingly good quality stockings, upwards, til her pristine white drawers slipped over her ankles and vanished like all the other clothing that had sailed to the floor.
Once again, he wondered at the elegant simplicity of her clothing, her wonderful fragrance. He kissed both breasts, and wondered if he dared go lower. Many women had done it to him. He had heard his friends talk about it all the time, though usually grudgingly. But he had never trusted or wanted anyone enough to-
She too seemed intent on exploring all of him, taking deep breaths, drawing his nipples into her mouth, running her lips from one to the other in a sweeping caress which had his manhood surging into the curve of her supple stomach.
She was a vision, a wonder. His hands ached to feel every inch of her glorious soft skin. Kissing her like a starving man, he slid his hands down to part her thigh with feather-light touches, until she granted him shy access to her most secret core.
Randall had known dozens of women, but never had he encountered any woman making love with him with the awed sense of wonder which emanated from Isolde as she gave herself up to the thrilling sensations his every kiss and touch filled her with.
His head swam with a sense of his own power. He was alarmed at the ravening need to possess this beauty completely. The role of the shy but willing virgin was a wonderful trick. He had had one once, though she had been so timid it had been a frostily unsatisfying experience for both of them.
But then, she had lied and said she was experienced. Otherwise he would never have broken his other concrete rule to never despoil an innocent. By the time he had found out, the damage had already been done, though he had been certain as he had with all his other women that he had not left her with any lasting consequences to regret apart from her own foolishness.
But this timid yet bold woman was a working girl, her virginity an act, a mere bedroom game. Conflict warred in his breast as two contrary urges reared their head.
She was a practiced whore; she knew what men wanted. Randall yearned for her so badly he knew he could take her now, in an instant, hot and hard, with no thought for delicacy as one ought to have with a genuine virgin lover. He was a large man, and she was small, demure.
He had had women feign begging for mercy. In his power, to do with as he liked. He could switch the game now to the big bad ravisher, which suited his rampaging mood to a tee.
His other desire was to give up control for once, not be the rakish man of the world. He could play the girl's game out until the end. Pretend they were an idealised romantic couple discovering the wonder of young love. He would tease her to pleasure, though he knew most working women only pretended they enjoyed it, and only if the client asked them to.
In this girl's case, though, he felt sure he could detect true enjoyment and desire. He noted the tell-tale blush of passion flooding her features. Her moistness, the shivering of pleasure and arching of hips were also signs. She was undoubtedly a consummate actress, but it would be hard to fake such damp and heated arousal as had sprung up since they'd first begun.
Randall set himself the challenge now to make this woman the most eager young virgin any actress could ever be. Except Isolde would not be acting; he was going to thrill her and by turn himself in the most delightful ways.
He raised his lips to murmur against her ear, "Do you want me, darling? All of me?"
All common sense fled in the face of her overwhelming desire. She was not afraid. And yes, she most certainly wanted him. "Yes, please. All of you. You're so very beautiful. I had no idea..."
He sagged against her for a moment, nearly unmanned. He knew he was handsome, attractive to all women, but beautiful?
That word certainly failed to describe her, with her peaches and cream complexion, flawless skin, magnificent breasts which leapt into his hands as though they ached for his touch and his alone.
She opened her alluring blue eyes to gaze at him with undisguised admiration. He was sure she was the most exciting woman he had ever met. Was it something in her eyes telling him how to play the game? Soft and gentle, long and lingering?
He knew he ought to get back to his duties, his mother's sickbed, but he had been tending to her needs so long, without any respite. He had guessed he would have the whore out the door in five minutes. Now he was convinced that not even a whole night would be enough. Every instinct in his body told him to savour the moment, that this lissome young girl was offering him something so special he would be a fool not to grab it with both hands and enjoy every second of it.
Randall raised his head to look at Isolde, and kissed her once again. Her lashes did not flutter down to conceal her gaze this time. For the space of a heartbeat he had the uneasy sensation that there was something about all of this that he was missing. The way her kisses, her whole body fit with his, the way her voice was like music to his ears, her rosy fragrance a balm to his soul, it was all so perfect, a dream come true. The magic of her hands on his heated flesh. The way her hair shimmered like a flame in the candlelight. It was all he had ever wanted, and more. It was almost too perfect.... He didn't deserve such happiness, not when he had--
He started as she stroked down his abdomen and placed her hand upon his thigh, interrupting his habitual chain of dark thoughts.
He let his sudden grimness pass away and melted into the caress. He covered her hand with his own and moved it upwards to cup him, preparing her for his own probing hand an instant later.
She stiffened slightly as she felt his fingers probing her most private area, but when she felt no pain, she opened her mouth and legs further.
Here was a practiced woman indeed, he thought with delighted satisfaction, for her touch was exquisite, light but firm. But the hell with his wager with Tubby. Eternal Virgin or not, he would pay his friend and count himself a lucky man.
He resisted the urge to toss her on her back and bury himself inside her. He kissed her gently and soothed her with his hands, sweeping then down over her shoulders and upper arms. One hand came to rest on her breast, while the other kneaded her thighs, each in turn.
He felt so achingly needy now as she canted her hips upwards, that he thought he'd be unbearably disappointed when it finally ended. For there was only one way for this game to end.
Yet still Randall held back, contenting himself to caress her tenderly and suckle her lush breasts like a starving man devouring his first meal in months.
As her hands stroked through his hair and her lips parted with a throaty sigh, he began stroking her inner thighs lightly, to spread the wonderful moisture he could feel pooling there. The smell of her increasing arousal filled him, a honey-like fragrance he had detected when he had first begun to unclothe her. It surrounded him now, urging him on.
Already he was wondering what her response to the supposed loss of virginity would entail. Would she be triumphant,
tearful, declare the game to be over and demand her money in an efficient, businesslike manner? The very idea made him cringe.
Yet still she propelled him onwards. He only hoped she was not going to tell him he needed to hurry, that she had other clients waiting. The thought of her with any other man than him set his teeth on edge.
Isolde thought her mother had prepared her for her transition from girl to woman, but the feelings blossoming below her waist were like a raw hunger unleashed, with only his touches and kisses able to assuage it.
Yet ruined would be ruined.... In a moment, there would be no going back, no way to undo her folly.
If folly was what it was, for the Earl was certainly the kind of man worth risking everything for. His lean, raw power was almost terrifying. Yet she sensed underneath it a tentative quality. An uncertainty, a doubt that she could not quite put her finger on.
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