He rose and offered his arm, and found her family engaged in an impromptu musicale around his fine pianoforte.
"You play very well, Rebecca," he praised sincerely. "My mama does as well, and would be most delighted with your playing."
"Oh, mine is nothing compared with Isolde's," the twelve year old said modestly.
"Indeed?" His eyes glowed as he looked at his new wife. "Another hidden gem, eh?"
"I do my best," she said modestly.
They began to all sing another popular song, "The Lass that Loved A Sailor," with such enthusiasm that even Randall joined in.
The moon on the ocean was dimmed by a ripple
Affording a chequered delight;
The gay jolly tars passed a word for the tipple,
And the toast for 'twas Saturday night:
Some sweetheart or wife he loved as his life
Each drank, and wished he could hail her:
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was "The wind that blows,
The Ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!"
Some drank "The Queen," and some her brave ships,
And some "The Constitution";
Some "May our foes, and all such rips,
Yield to English resolution!"
That fate might bless some Poll or Bess,
And that they soon might hail her:
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was "The wind that blows,
The Ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!"
Some drank "The Prince," and some "Our Land,"
This glorious land of freedom!
Some that our tars may never stand
For heroes brave to lead them!
That she who's in distress may find,
Such friends as ne'er will fail her.
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was "The wind that blows,
The Ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!"
As they were singing, Isolde's eyes met and melded with Randall. They were both revelling in the chance to get to know more about one another, and the more they saw, the more there was to love.
"I want to show you something," he said in an undertone as Susan now took her turn at the fine instrument and began to play "The Rose."
"All right."
He offered his arm and led her into his study. He seated her at the desk and placed some portfolios on the desk.
"Investments, trains, coal, the Potteries." He laid them down one by one. "Nothing exceptional. My emoluments for the people in my care, including the children, as I have told you." He also placed them on the table. She gave them a long look, understanding that he was asking for her help.
"All of my charities. My main one is a clinic for fallen women, to be precise, in the East End, which was founded by Dr. Blake Sanderson."
"Then it's the same as the one I trained in."
He nodded. "I thought so. So your cousin has been running it since Blake moved to the country with his wife?"
"Yes."
"So that's how you know all the Rakehells and Philip?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Philip was a noted rake until he married Jasmine," Randall observed quietly.
She looked surprised at the unspoken accusation. "I assure you, he's been a good friend, no more. He and Jasmine. You have no reason to think-"
"I know you were a virgin. I just can't believe you are heart-whole."
She smiled softly. "I'm not any more. You've taken mine captive. Only you can heal it or rend it asunder."
He put her hand on his own breast now. "I shall tend yours, my dearest, if you will tend mine."
Isolde nodded. "Gladly."
She rose from the chair, feeling hot, sweet desire bubbling up in her veins as she thought of how well and truly he had possessed her that first magical night. It was what she longed for again with every beat of her heart, yet something still held her back. "I'm going to look in on your mother and lie down again now, but I shall see you later?"
"Yes, of course. Do you need anything?"
"Not that I can think of, but 'll come ring if I want anything."
"So long as you're up to it."
She smiled bravely. "Yes, I'm fine."
"Would you like me to get some tickets for the play or-"
She shook her head quickly. "It's a lovely idea, but not tonight, no, nor for the next few until we're a bit more settled, and won't cause such a disturbance wherever we go. I think we both have a great deal to contemplate, discuss, and I don't want to dangle what we have in people's faces and make them itch to give us our comeuppance."
He frowned. "Surely it's not that bad."
She shot him a sharp look. "I heard every word those women were saying in the shop, Randall. They intended me to," she added angrily.
"You're right, of course," he sighed. "I'm sorry."
"So we'll, well, court each other, and you shall tell me everything."
He shrugged one shoulder, and said, "I don't know what else I can tell you, but I will try."
"In that case, just some quiet time would be good. If my new room is ready I'll go in there. And if you could perhaps send out for some tatting supplies? I find my mind settles itself more when I have something to do, and I finished my last piece of work in the coach coming here."
"May I see it?"
She looked surprised, but nodded. "Yes of course."
They went up to his mother's room first, but she was sleeping soundly, so they crept out as quietly as they had come. They returned to his own chamber. Isolde's reticule lay on the dresser, and she took out the exquisite neckcloth.
"My, your work is superb."
"Thank you. I shall gladly make you something if you like. And I shall look forward do doing your mending like a real wife one day."
He smiled, pleased. "Usually women of our class don't, but my mother always did for my father. She was sure no one could ever keep him as dapper as she."
Isolde grinned back. "One of the many things our mothers are likely to agree upon, then, for mine did the same."
"But you don't have to if you have other things you're interested in. I wasn't hinting. Or trying to mold you or control you."
"No, of course not, Randall. I may not trust you very much at the moment due to the startlng suddenness of our connection, but I do know when I'm being manipulated. I'm offering. It's what wives do, after all." She smiled shyly.
He stared at her, the heat of his gaze scorching in its intensity. "I can think of a few more things I would rather you did with those clever fingers of yours, but I have the feeling I mustn't overdo things. And I know you still don't trust this incredible thing between us. So there's no need to look so reproachful. I'm just being honest. I adore you. But you shall have whatever you wish. I shall tell my manservant to buy out the store's threads and--."
"Oh, don't do that. Just some basic colors. The unusual ones can be so hard to match."
"Very well, my dear. Let me take you back to your room."
He conducted her back her to the room next to his, resplendent in white and lavender, and smiled in satisfaction.
"If I can't have you in with me, then this is the best room in the house for you, I think."
"It's lovely."
"Actually, I was referring to the color scheme and décor. It suits you. Serene, peaceful, pure. A little bower of bliss I can take refuge in from time to time."
Isolde blushed. "Not so pure now."
He put his arm around her. "You always will be to me. I can't tell you how I felt when I saw you really were a virgin. Guilty and thrilled all at once. Aching to possess you again, yet livid with myself for having been so stupid that what I thought was a whore's trick turned out to be the real thing."
"Yes, I didn't understand what you meant about relaxing my muscles."
He whispered in her ear and she blushed more and
more red. "Oh, surely not."
He nodded."If you practice, I'm told it is most definitely possible. It milks a man dry like a cow's teat. But I would never expect-"
"No, I never said you would," she replied hastily, all the while her mind awhirr with the sensual possibilities. If she could control the incredible spasms she had felt within her, could she too...
Believing her to be upset at his mention of such a thing, Randall decided he had better leave her alone as he had promised.
"I don't wish to overstay my welcome, so I shall simply kiss your hand and wish you a good rest. I shall see you later, my dear."
"Yes, indeed," she said shyly. "Later, when I'm feeling a bit more rested and less, well, all at sea. And I promise you, I shan't run away, so please stop looking so worried. Ever since we've met, things have been such a whirl. Me desperate to help my family, your making advances because of your wager with your club members, and me deciding to take my fate into my own hands. And the visions coming back to me after all this time...." She shook her head as if to clear it. Then she reached out to grip his fingers. "I know it was meant to be. What you said about redemption. I think it is possible, with love and compassion. It won't ever bring your brother back, but nor will self-loathing and grim reproach."
"Thank you for trying to me feel better," he sighed, "but I don't deserve--"
The red began to swirl so powerfully again that the sensation was almost suffocating. Isolde summoned every ounce of tenderness and compassion in her heart, stretched up, and kissed him, hard on the mouth.
She clung onto him fiercely, devouring him with kisses, stroking his body behind and even now in front as she grew ever more bold in her explorations. As she did so, the red dissipated, leaving nothing but the pure white light she had seen when they had made love, pushing back the tide of darkness threatening to engulf him.
Randall held perfectly still, allowing her to give, but not greedily taking. His days of pursuing and manipulating were over. If he ever wanted to win the deep and abiding love of so remarkable a woman, he needed to earn it. Though she was the most naturally sensual woman he had ever come across, he was not going to win her and keep her by dazzling passion alone. So he cupped her waist lightly, allowing him to explore, not even hiding his rampant arousal, but also doing nothing to press forward. He could feel his whole spine sizzle, and indeed felt the peace they had just been discussing.
At last he broke of the kiss, shakily pressing the back of one hand to his throbbing lips. "I say, steady the Buffs," he gasped, eliciting a giggle from Isolde, who was rather shocked herself at how heated they had both become.
He began to smooth down his rumpled garments, smiling at her in a half daze.
"I wonder how long it will take England to recover from so many years of war," she said pensively.
"My family never will. Robert was the best of men, but Michael, well, he was someone extraordinary. I would love for you to have known him."
"Did he serve in the Buffs?"
He shook his head. "No, not the 3rd East Kent Regiment, though we do have some holdings in that county. No, he was with The Slashers, as they called the, 61st Gloucester Regiment. A better nickname than the one they ended up with."
"Oh?"
"So many of them died at the last battle against Napoleon, they were known as the Flowers of Toulouse."
"I'm sorry," she said, gripping him hard around the waist in an attempt to comfort him more tenderly, less sensually.
"And I'm doing it again, aren't I," he said with a shaky laugh.
"Doing what?" she asked, looking up at him in surprise.
"Every time I start feeling, well, happy, I don't allow myself to enjoy it. I think of dire things, and grow grim and despondent again."
She noticed that the red was indeed starting to come back, so she kissed his lips lightly and said, "Well, now that you see the pattern, perhaps you can catch yourself. Lighten your mood with things you enjoy, a good book, a ride and so on."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're right. But my endless pleasure seeking never really seemed to do much for me, not compared with the short time I've spent with you."
"Thank you for saying that. I really do want to help."
He kissed her on the cheek and began to head for the door. "You do, and I can't tell you how grateful I am. But now I really should go and leave you in peace so you can rest. But I shall see you in the morning, and as soon as you say you are feeling, er, up to it, we an go for a ride, pay calls, do whatever you wish to make the most of our time in Town."
"I just want to make sure your mother and my family are as settled as they can be given the terrible losses of both our fathers."
"Yes, of course," he said with a sigh. "You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot. What kind of man does that make me."
She stepped over to him and squeezed his fingers. "One not hell-bent on revenge. Which means you're a better man than you give yourself credit for. And shall prove to be an even better earl, given time."
"And your help," he said, stroking her cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers, setting her whole body shuddering with desire.
"I shall do my best."
"And I shall do mine, to be the kind of husband you deserve. I don't know what good fortune brought you to me, Isolde, but I swear-"
She stopped his mouth with a tender kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow, Randall."
"Mmm, tomorrow," he said, and hurried away from her before the temptation proved too much for him to bear.
He closed the door behind him with a sigh, then urged himself to be patient. So much had happened that she really needed some time on her own.
Yet the metallic rasp was like an arrow through Randall's heart. He longed for her so, it was all he could do not to burst back into the door and beg her to let him into her exquisite body, her compassionate heart, her beautiful soul.
He went back to his mother's room to see to her needs, noting that this was where it had all begun so few hours before, when he had wished for someone to save him from the darkness within.
Now all that had once looked so dark a grim seemed bathed in a golden glow of new possibilities. Feeling more cheerful than he had since the death of his father, he gave his orders to the servants for a fine meal to be prepared for the whole family for dinner on the morrow by way of a celebration to mark his marriage to so fine a wife.
He cheerfully went about his chores, then was sure his mother needed nothing more, he tiptoed out of the room to decide what to weart the next day to impress Isolde and his family and friends for the wedding dinner.
His valet was there sorting his wardrobe, and once he explained his plans for the further celebrations of his marriage, helped him choose something that he was sure Isolde would find him irresistible in.
He flashed himself a predatory smile in the mirror, then asked himself what on earth had he been doing, thinking? His mind set was still one of a rake; he had been doing whatever he felt would press forward with an agenda of seduction.
But Isolde was his wife, not yet another conquest. Her happiness was paramount. He had promised to love, honor and cherish her, not swive her like a dog in heat.
She was passionate, true, but she was also intelligent, and honest. He had a feeling there would be little he could put past her, even were he so inclined as to be dishonest with her.
While many might not agree with his sentiments, he knew, Randall had always imagined that the woman he would wed one day would be worthy enough to be an equal partner in life.
Well, that day had come, and Fate had gifted him with a spirited bride. He had never met anyone like Isolde, and the fact was he was not supposed to be looking ever again. Marriage was for life, not just the wedding day and honeymoon. He had to give up his sparkish ways, and treat Isolde with the respect she deserved.
Above all, he had to try to trust her. Clarissa had jilted him, true, but it was his own fault for allowing the depravities of the world to contaminate him until he t
hought they were an accepted part of his life.
Isolde had shown him pure love and devotion. She had opened the bars of his prison of corruption. Now that he was free, what was he to do with himself?
He wasn't sure, but as he assessed his appearance in the mirror once more, he decided he would try to never do or say anything of which Isolde could not be proud.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection #4 Page 27