Nicholas, on the other hand, would not have stopped until Emsley left the table with nothing more than the clothes on his back. Harold chuckled at the memory of Emsley hurling threats at each player. The more he lost, the greedier he became, watching the chips stack on the table. Lord Eaton kept the glasses filled, attributing his good mood to his free case of scotch.
Certain that Winston had gone to bed and wouldn’t attempt to wash, dry, and powder his bottom, Harold headed for the kitchen, intent on privacy and a hot bath. The man was too efficient, he thought, reminding himself it was high time Winston visited his family in the country. Loosening the knot at his neck, Harold shook his head.
The last time the butler visited his family, he’d returned two days early demanding to resume his duties. He’d mumbled for days about the insolence of women. It seemed his wife didn’t take kindly to talk about man’s duty and a woman’s place, especially when she performed both duties while he played housekeeper.
Slowing his stride, his good humor slowly drained the closer he came to the end of the hall.
It was the sound of humming that shattered his hopes for solitude. Hand sprawled against the wooden door, he pushed. He was not alone.
Taking a sharp intake of air to steady his quickening pulse, Harold stood just inside the kitchen. Not wanting to rattle her, he drank in the sight she made.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the memory of Virginia soaking in his bath to be locked away for eternity.
He imagined the softness of her skin beneath the soapy water. Her breasts full, rounded by the warmth. The petals of her mounds reaching for something beyond her own touch.
Harold groaned.
With a final tug, the cloth fell from his neck to the floor. The buttons on the front of his shirt were freed. Still she hadn’t noticed him in the candle-lit room as he firmly jerked the shirt from the waist of his pants.
Moving fully into the room, he approached her. She startled, splashing soapy water onto the floor.
Her wide eyes told him exactly how he looked. Harold shrugged. He was never one for formalities, or modesty for that matter.
“Is that cinnamon I smell?”
Virginia licked her lips. “I… I hope you don’t mind?”
“Mind?” Harold chuckled, before tossing the remains of his clothing aside.
“Your bath water… I thought you were out.”
“Mm…” By the time he stood before Virginia, she’d already leapt from the tub like a frightened lamb, a towel clutched to her chest.
“I don’t mind, as long as Miss Conley doesn’t have your head for sampling her spices.” He let his fingers follow the trail of water droplets sprinkling her arm, delighting in the quickening of her breath. “Tell me, love, does all of you taste as good as you smell?”
And before she had a chance to respond, he claimed her mouth. Gently their lips brushed against each other. Virginia’s shoulders relaxed, giving into the tenderness of their kiss. Oh how he wished he could make this moment last forever—the smell, the feel of her softness against years of hard labor, to be wrapped in the safety of her arms. But tonight, he needed so much more. He needed her. He’d fought his hunger for her and lost. Tonight, he wanted to revel in it. Tonight, he wanted to be consumed.
His tongue slid along her lower lip, more a demand than a caress, until he held the tender flesh between his teeth. He bit down until she gasped, opening for him like no other could. Harold groaned as his tongue explored the depths of her mouth.
He released her mouth. And while she gasped for air, he kissed the line along her jaw, her throat, all while backing her against the counter.
“Harold…not here,” she demanded breathlessly.
“I plan to have you here. Each time you enter these walls, I want you to remember us.”
He unclenched one of her hands from the towel, wrapping her warm fingers around his engorged manhood.
“See what you do to me, Virginia?” he whispered in her ear. Fingers around her waist, his hands moved lower until he held her bottom, molding her closer to him.
Her breath quickened at his crude words, breasts swelling against his chest.
With swiftness she had not expected, Harold spun her around.
“I suggest you let go of the towel love, and take hold of the table.”
When she resisted his suggestion, he leaned her forward until she had no choice but to obey. Only then did he allow himself to enjoy the softness of her flesh. He dipped his fingers between the sweetness of her thighs and almost lost his seed at her readiness.
Her back arched. Her thighs opened to him.
When he finally removed his hands from her folds to cup her breasts, she was moaning in his arms.
Thrusting his hips forward, Harold entered her.
They both moaned.
Harold gritted his teeth, resting his head against her shoulder and allowing her to adjust to him.
It was only when he felt her walls clutching him that he started to move with long, powerful strokes.
This was the Virginia he loved, the part of her not afraid to be free. The part that embraced passion. The Virginia that did not fear him when he was crazed with hunger. She moved with him, matching his every stroke. There was nothing more magical than the sounds of her cries.
But this time he wanted more. He desired her soul.
God help him, but he wanted all of her.
He needed to taste the sweetness of her fire on his tongue.
His muscles flexed from denying his release. Turning Virginia around, he sat her onto the edge of the table. He was not prepared when she ran her nails along his arms, his chest, and the rippling muscles of his stomach. Harold closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of her bold touch.
Harold sucked in a sharp breath as she cupped the weight of his sack in one hand and wrapped the other around the length of him. It was the thought of being buried in her moist heat that kept him from losing himself like a youth.
“Let me taste you.” He eased her down until her back lay against the table.
His tongue danced across the soft flesh of her stomach, kissing a path to her inner thighs. Harold teased until her back arched. Her fingers dug into his hair, sent him deeper into her folds. She was sweeter than he imagined.
Her thighs trembled against him. He wanted more than knowing he’d brought her release. He wanted to feel her shatter around him.
Harold positioned himself between her thighs, and with one long thrust, he buried himself inside of her warmth.
Virginia’s cries filled his ear. Her hips bucked, driving him deeper.
His lips crushed hers, letting her taste his heaven and hell.
She stilled for a moment before the wave crashed, engulfing them in its madness. They rode the storm together. Hard. Fast. Until there was nothing left but tangled limbs.
Still panting, they held each other.
“Marry me,” he whispered against her cheek, voicing the desires that had plagued him for months.
Virginia gasped.
Their breaths mingled. The air was charged with the magic of what they had just created, what they had always created. They were two lost souls.
He kissed her shoulder, her neck. “Marry me, Virginia.” Feeling her stiffen in his arms, Harold raised his head until he was looking into her chestnut eyes. Only then did he see the despair there.
“Oh Harold, I… I can’t.”
Harold clenched his jaw to tame his own anger. “Why?”
What a fool he’d been. He searched her wide eyes for the truth he was finally ready to accept.
“Answer me, damn it!”
“Harold…” her voice was barely a whisper.
“Nicholas.” Fingers clamped around her arms, Harold shook her. Furious, he ignored her pleas.
Shaking her head, Virginia said, “No, I don’t love him, not that way and you know it. I never did.”
“Then why?”
How could she admit to him what she’d only not long
ago admitted to herself? When a man married it was because he wanted a family, children. For a time, she’d blamed herself for her husband’s drinking. Three years of marriage had given them no children. Pellian had made sure she knew her only duty to him that remained. How could she marry Harold knowing she was barren?
She’d chosen Nicholas not because of love, but because he had Cassie and would demand nothing from her.
Looking into Harold’s angry face, she had to tell him.
“I can’t give you children, Harold. I can’t give you the one thing you want.”
He searched her face. He’d met families without children. And though many doctors and husbands readily blamed the wife, he suspected the husband’s weak seed to be the cause. But this was not the time to convince her of that.
“What of love, Virginia? Is that of any value?”
She pushed at his chest in response. Harold wrapped his fingers into her hair until she had no choice but to look at him, his free hand buried between her thighs until she was once again panting. “Wife or mistress, Virginia, you decide. Because the next time I’m inside your warmth, I won’t deny myself release.”
“I never asked you to!” The words escaped in a choked whisper.
“No.” His eyes darkened. “No you didn’t.”
With effort, he untangled himself and gathered his discarded clothing before leaving the kitchen.
He never heard her sob, or saw her arms wrap around her body to restore the warmth that had departed with him.
Twenty Nine
Nicholas roused to the sound of his wife’s gentle breathing. Wild strays of hair fanned his shoulder and soft breaths tickled his chest. She shifted, nestling her head further into the crook of his arm. Tightening his hold, he held her close.
Usually he’d wake from a night of restless sleep and vivid dreams. Not today. Last night he’d found peace in Isabella’s arms.
Thoughts of his mother no longer caused him pain, nor did he feel ashamed or pity her. As for his father, Nicholas did not hate him.
Kissing the top of Isabella’s head, he knew she was the source of his peace.
Though he’d never forgive his father, and he’d never understand how a man could so easily turn his back on family, Nicholas understood the man’s fear. A fear his mother, Harold, he, and for a time Isabella, shared and lived. Lord Jeffery Ferguson, his father, cowered at having nothing. No coin or grand home. No influence. And in the midst of his panic, he’d forgotten the power of family. He’d turned his back. He was faithless. Nicholas would never forgive him that.
For years, he’d blamed his mother for not fighting harder, not demanding his father take responsibility. Mayhap even shaming him before the ton. After years of navigating the streets of London, he now understood that even in heartbreak, his mother thought to keep them safe from a man who might easily snuff them out.
Isabella snuggled closer at his side.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. What occupies your thoughts?”
“My mother. She would have adored you.”
“You think so?”
“Aye. She would have liked your spirit.”
“If she is anything like her son, we would not have gotten on,” she teased.
Nicholas chuckled.
Isabella looked at him. “You did not have a bad dream?”
He frowned.
“That night, our wedding night, I heard you from the sitting room. You were…restless.”
“Ye said naught.”
“You would not have welcomed my interference, not after our cruel exchange.”
“I’m sorry, lass.” His whispered words were hoarse.
“Tell me of your dream.”
There was a short pause before he answered. “It’s of my mother’s death.”
“But you weren’t there.”
“What if I had been? Mayhap I could have helped her, prevented it.”
“Nicholas…”
“For some time I knew. I think we both did. Feeding both of us could not go on forever. My mother never said a word. She thought I never saw the portions of food on her plate each night lessen. The molded ends of bread she’d keep for herself.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nicholas squeezed her arm, needing her warmth as he never had before. “Soon after, Harold and his mother arrived. Do you know he is heir to land in the Highlands? Because of greed, they fled from an uncle who wanted the clan and lands for himself. They ran for weeks…
“Mother shared what little we had. Her sister…” Nicholas closed his eyes. “While Harold laid unconscious in bed from a badly healing broken leg, his mother died.”
Isabella gasped.
“His screams are what haunt me at night. He was seven, and while he cried for his mother, I remember feeling…relief.”
She shook her head. “You were only a boy.”
“Even then, I knew her death meant one less mouth to feed. And though guilt came quick on the heels of my relief, there were still too many of us to support.”
“That’s why you left?”
“Aye.”
“As to not lose any more family.”
“She died anyway.”
“Only this time, Harold was there for your mother the way you were there for his mother years earlier.” She soothed his guilt.
“Yer a smart woman, Isabella.”
“You say that as if you chanced upon it in the dailies.”
“Impertinent wench.” He chuckled.
Her hand covered his chest. “It’s not your fault your mother died. Last night—”
“No.” Adjusting their position, Nicholas cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You’ve lit every dark corner of my dreams, Lady Isabella.” He kissed her. A long, lingering kiss that professed his love and gratitude. “I have a gift for you.” The back of his fingers stroked her cheek, her ear, before letting strands of her hair curl around his finger.
Throwing the covers from around his waist, he swung from the bed, feet landing on the cold floor. He opened the dresser and took out a slender box adorned with a white silk ribbon. It was a simple gesture, a peace offering of sorts. He wanted her to know he had not taken her for granted or made light of the strength it took to commit to their marriage. He walked back to the bed and handed her the box.
“What’s this?”
“It doesn’t replace what was taken from ye.”
She looked at him. The ribbon unraveled after a gentle tug. Holding his breath, he watched her lift the cover.
Trembling fingers ran along the necklace. “It’s beautiful. The stones… I didn’t think I’d ever see that shade of blue again.”
“That night, at the ball, you were hurting. Had I looked past my own needs, I would have seen your tears. On the balcony, you weren’t crying for the loss of Emsley, were you?”
“No.” She looked at him.
“Your mother’s gift to you, a necklace, was stolen. You were in pain and I added to that. I’m sorry.”
“You gave as much as you took that night, Nicholas.”
His chest squeezed. Catching her fingers in his, he stilled her hand when she reached for him. “There’s no need to be gentle, Isabella, I was less than kind.”
Isabella smiled. “It was not kindness that made me accept your offer of marriage. Truth, I’ve never forgotten our first meeting under that wretched boat. Nor did I forget how I felt that afternoon. I wanted you, too, Nicholas, but those feelings frightened me.”
“Is that true?”
“I thought to hide my feelings behind marriage to Emsley.”
“My brave lass.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I wasn’t brave then, and my father would never have approved. Then I saw you again and I had to be sure I hadn’t imagined your touch.”
“Was it as you remembered?” Nicholas swallowed.
“Yes,” she whispered as his fingers touched her flushed cheek.
Setting the box aside, he held her, circling his arms
around her slender waist. Closing his eyes, he listened to their beating hearts, certain their love was matched.
“How did you know about the necklace?”
“Pashkin told me how much it meant to you.”
Isabella gasped, her grip tightening on his arm. He glanced down at her upturned face and kissed the tip of her nose. They held each other for a time. Needing no words.
“If I stay in bed any longer, I’ll miss my appointment at the agency.”
“Cassie doesn’t fair well with governesses,” he said.
“I’m not hiring a governess,” she said and almost laughed at the look of relief that crossed his face. “I intend to teach music.”
“Wife, have ye heard Cassie sing?”
Her chin angled up.
Nicholas sighed. “The child lives to torment me and no doubt has rallied you to aid her.”
“Nonsense. Cassie loves you. In time she will improve.”
“Not before I lose my ear.”
“I don’t intend to solely teach Cassie, Nicholas,” she said before he interrupted again. “I mean to be a tutor, and for that I need students. Students the agency can supply.”
He looked at his wife, finally understanding her intent. It was hopeless trying to convince her she needn’t worry about money. He suspected it was more than that. She found joy in music and, like him, Isabella had sampled freedom and found it to her liking.
His fingers stroked her cheek. She defied him at every turn, his Isabella, when no one else dared. “It’s an ungodly hour to seek students.”
“And the break of dawn is not?” Blushing, she spoke of their morning play. Still her chin tilted upward, their eyes locking.
He shifted, their limbs tangling. Her boldness was inviting. “I could think of other ways to spend your time.”
“You promised I could carry on with my affairs.” Her fingers combed his hair. “You promised not to interfere.” Her free hand trailed down his stomach until she cupped him. “Do you plan to go back on your word, sir?”
If he wasn’t already lying down, he would have swooned like a maiden having her skirts lifted for the first time. Closing his eyes, Nicholas savored her warm stokes. When he’d promised she could carry on with her affairs, he’d meant with her lovers. She’d been so reluctant to marry him that he’d thought her hesitation due to another man. But hadn’t she proven her virtue on their wedding night? What a fool he had been. There was no doubt she’d kept faithful to their vows. Him. Placing his hand beneath her chin, he tilted it up until they were a mere breath apart. Knowing he was his wife’s only lover made him possessive, reckless, as he covered her mouth with his.
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