by Tamara Gill
She swallowed the lump in her throat, hating that the man before her was the only one she’d ever met who could rile her up and bring forth any true emotion. “I will know my future husband well enough, but I’m a modern woman, not a simpleton. I know my husband will wish to be free and do as he pleases most nights. And I will not stop him from doing so, as long as he does not stop me from having the life that I want.”
“Really,” he said, stepping closer still. “And pray, what do you mean by that?”
“Only that…that is to say…”
“Does that mean you would have an affair with another man once a golden band sits about your finger and protects you from the Society you hold so dear?”
His breath was but a whisper away from her lips, and she wanted to lean closer still and touch them to hers. Desire smoldered, just waiting for a flame to bring it to life. “You’re reading more into my words than you ought.”
He scoffed. “Do not fool yourself that freedom beckons at the signing of a marriage register.” Merrick paused, his gaze dark with intent. “I will not allow you to marry for anything other than the purest love.” His touch skimmed along her arm, and a charge of desire spiraled deep in her belly.
“And you think you can stop me?”
He threw her an amused glance, nodding. “Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Merrick,” she said, placing a finger against his lips, “shut up and kiss me.” Isolde wrapped her arms about his neck and took control, doing it herself when he stared at her, shocked. He gasped, whether to say something or to deepen the embrace she didn’t know, but what did it matter when she was kissing the man who’d haunted her dreams for the last five years.
A heady sense of power and desire coursed through her veins, and she opened to him, kissing him with a desperate, ravenous need. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. This close she could feel his desire, and the knowledge of it only increased her own. Delicious heat pooled between her legs, and the decision reverberated in her mind that this was right. And nothing and no one was going to stop her from getting what she wanted.
Not ever again.
…
It took Merrick a moment to catch his breath when the woman he’d longed to taste, to hold and love, kissed him without restraint. And yet, with every delicious moment, devouring her mouth wasn’t enough. He wanted more. So much more.
The smooth glide of her gown beneath his hands tempted and teased him. His arms slid lower to caress the most sensual, perfect bottom he’d ever known a woman to have.
She moaned her acquiescence, nibbling his bottom lip and making him as hard as the statue of David. Shivers stole over him, and he pulled back to collect some perspective. “You cannot kiss me like that and marry another. I’ll not allow it.”
She clasped his face, her emerald eyes sleepy with desire. “I don’t want to talk about my fictional future husband.”
Merrick couldn’t agree more. He pulled her closer still, allowed her to feel what she was doing to him, what she made him crave. Her. Only her.
He shuffled them toward the settee, hauling her down onto his lap as he sat, while never breaking the kiss. The slide of her tongue against his left his heart thrumming a beat of need he’d only ever had with Isolde. She was everything to him, and if she’d allow it, he’d take her. Have her and be dammed the consequence. Or thank God the consequence, for marriage is what he’d demand from the action.
“Touch me, Merrick.”
The need in her voice undid him, and he growled, only too happy to do as she bid. “Where would you like to be touched, my lady?”
Isolde bit her lip, moving so she straddled his legs, shuffling up her dress a little to allow her more movement against him. “Everywhere.” She clasped his hand, pushing it up against her breast. “And anywhere.”
The breath in his lungs expired. For a moment, Merrick was unable to speak or move. She wiggled, and the slight brush of her mons against his cock awakened him from a dream he’d never thought would come to reality.
Sliding his hands down her legs, he enjoyed the smoothness of the silk beneath his palms that was rivaled by her own skin. Soft and warm, he slowly slid the gown up her legs to pool about her waist.
“You undo me.” He licked his lips, noting Isolde wore no drawers. God damn it, he would be lucky to survive the night.
“Please.”
Her plea, another wiggle against him, could not be denied. He clasped her hip, running one finger across her lower abdomen and toward the dark thatch of curls between her thighs. How he wanted to free himself from his frontfalls and slip into her hot core, to embed her on him and bring them both to climax.
She shivered above him as his hand grazed her curls, sliding slowly over her flesh, teasing and stroking as he delved further. She was so wet, hot and ready for him, he could almost feel her aching need.
“Oh my, that’s…” She clasped his jaw, lifting him up to look at her. “That feels so wonderful, Merrick.”
He slid one finger into her. So sweet and tight. He stroked her slowly, watched as her eyes glazed over with lust, her head dropping back as she enjoyed the music he played against her flesh.
Her hands splayed into his hair as her movements became more frantic, her body undulating, mimicking an act that the pliant woman in his arms had never experienced. A blessing and curse, for who would not wish Isolde to be loved, to enjoy love such as they were now.
“I want you.” The words came out raspy and breathless. “Let me have you,” he begged, unable to hold back the desires he’d harbored for so long.
She looked at him, coming down to kiss him, her hands sliding down his chest to fumble with his pant buttons. “I want you as well. So much.”
Sanity prevailed for a moment, and Merrick understood that no matter how ready Isolde was for him, such a position would not be best for her first time. He clasped her ass and flipped her to lie on the settee, settling over her.
Her fingers resumed their frantic unbuttoning, and within moments his cock sprang free and into her eager hand. She looked up at him in shock. “Oh, it’s so soft.”
He laughed and groaned when she started to play with him.
“I have a notion that I’m going to enjoy what we’re about to do,” she said, grinning like a minx. And there she was, the teasing, laughing woman he’d fallen in love with at a country dance. How he’d missed that carefree smile.
“I aim to please,” he gasped, trying to hold himself together as her untutored hand slid about him, squeezing a little.
He supported himself on his arms, watching her watch him. Her legs open to him, her breasts rising against her gown with every frantic breath. He placed her hands above her head. “Hold the armrest,” he said.
Her green gaze widened, but she did as he asked. He glided his cock against her core, running it over her swollen nubbin and aching heat. She oohed beneath him and he couldn’t stop teasing them both for a moment longer. It had been so long since he’d wanted a woman. So long since he’d had Isolde in his arms that he never wished it to end. Desperate as he was, she lifted herself to place him at her core, pushing the head of his penis into her heat.
“I want to go slow for you. The first time often hurts,” he said, fighting for breath.
She clasped his arms, her nails biting into his flesh. “Merrick, my patience is starting to wane. I will flip you onto your back in a moment and do the deed myself, if you do not hurry up.”
He grinned. How remarkable she was, and how much he had missed her. All the years that they had been apart were too long. “I will be as gentle as I can,” he promised. Merrick slowly pushed against her just as a knock sounded at the door.
Isolde stilled in his arms and he swore.
“Your Grace?” Another tap, louder this time. “Lord William is awake and asking for you. He’s…” His servant paused. “Had a nightmare and wishes to see you, Your Grace.”
His gaze caught Isolde’s. “I’ll be right there,�
�� he replied, his voice strained and harsher than he wished. Merrick took a deep calming breath before pulling away from her.
She sat up, trying to right her clothing, her eyes tinged with disappointment.
“I’ll be back. Please don’t leave.”
She caught his hand as he stood, tugging him back to sit beside her. “I must leave. It’s getting late, and William needs you. I don’t want you to rush with your boy just so you can come back to me.”
He frowned, hating the thought of her leaving after what they’d been about to do. “I wouldn’t do that to him, but I also do not wish for you to go.”
She didn’t reply, only leaned up and kissed him sweetly on the lips. Fear spiked through him at the finality of the gesture. “Go, Merrick. I will see you again. I promise.”
He stood, looking back at her at the door and knowing that when he returned to the room, he would find it empty.
Chapter Seventeen
Isolde woke up with a start, the soft cotton sheets haphazardly spread about her bed, the blankets piled at her feet and floor.
“Another bad dream? You’ve been waking me up all week with your nightmares.”
Isolde looked toward her armoire and noted Alice going through her dresses, holding a blue silk gown against her body in contemplation.
“What are you doing in my room?”
“I want answers.” She hung the gown back up and strolled toward her. Her sister’s gaze fixed on her with a determination she’d often seen on her elder sister Elizabeth’s visage prior to her marriage to Henry.
Isolde swallowed. “What sort of answers? I don’t know anything.” Not anything she wished to disclose, in any case.
“I came home early from the theater last night, and you were not here. I searched everywhere, by the way, just in case you try to come up with some pitiful excuse.”
Heat bloomed on her cheeks, and Isolde grabbed the sheet, holding it up against her mouth. “I went for a walk in the garden. Nothing amiss with that.” If only that were true. The thought of what Merrick had done to her, of his touch, his kisses, his hard…
“Where were you, Isolde?” Alice crossed her arms over her chest, one brow determinedly raised. “I want to know.”
“Away from my room. As I said.” She shuffled from her bed, walking to the window to take in the weather—no sign of rain today.
Alice spied her gown thrown carelessly across a chair in her dressing room. She strode over to it, lifting it up as if to inspect it before smelling it. “This has the distinct odor of maleness.”
Isolde laughed, but even to her own ears it sounded brittle with guilt. “Don’t be absurd. You cannot smell a man on my gown.”
“How long have you been sneaking out to meet him? And by him I mean, His Grace, the Duke of Moore.”
When did Alice become so damn nosy, and for that matter so damn smart? Isolde rolled her eyes. “Moore? Do be serious, Alice. I’ve just broken my engagement with Wardoor, so why would I allow courtship so soon, pray?”
“I know you are, for you were certainly not home when I arrived last night. And you were not in the gardens. Now,” Alice said, raising her brows, “know that I won’t tell anyone your secret so long as you stop whatever destructive thing it is you’re doing, before it’s too late.”
“It’s not destructive.”
“Ah ha! So you are sneaking out to meet someone. I demand you tell me at once or I’ll be forced to tattle to Mama, and that’ll not do you any good at all.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Isolde rounded on her sister, glaring at her smirk and the careless shrug of her shoulder. The last thing she wanted was her family knowing of her rekindled friendship with Merrick. They loathed him after his treatment of her five years ago and had not forgiven his sins. Even when she had explained that he was not at fault, that he had been tricked, along with herself, they still found it difficult to be pleasant and cordial in public.
“I will, if you do not own up to what you’re about. There cannot be a scandal afoot in this house, unless I’m part of it.” Alice stood in wait, expectation clearly written on her visage.
Isolde sighed. “I’ve merely called on Moore a couple of times to see how he and the children are getting on after Leonora’s passing.” Isolde slumped onto the chair behind her writing desk, waiting for the inevitable scolding that Alice was sure to give. Many would say their seeing of each other was too soon after Leonora’s death. That Isolde was pushing in on a family that was in mourning. Taking advantage of them. She frowned. Am I?
“We’ve always suspected you loved him, even all these years later.”
Mortification swamped her. Was she so obvious to everyone? “You did not.”
“Is it true?” Alice came and stood before her. “But I would caution you on it. You could marry someone with no past to cloud your judgment. There are other men besides His Grace who could make you happy, if only you tried.”
The words were reminiscent of what Merrick had said the night before. But Isolde had given her heart to him many years ago, and she didn’t want it back. “I know you mean well, and I will think on your words.” Isolde sighed. “I simply visited Moore to thank him for his help that disastrous night, and because I felt for him and the children after the duchess’s death. It cannot be easy losing a spouse, even if the marriage was not a love match.” At her words, guilt pricked her conscience at having been about to sleep with a man who was still in mourning. She was the worst kind of person, who should be ashamed of herself, but the thought of Merrick’s lips, demanding and ravenous upon her own, his strong capable arms pulling her close… Well, she bit her lip, if only she could do more of the same.
“Are you going to visit him again?”
“No.” And she wouldn’t. There could be no more secret meetings. Each time she was with the duke it became harder and harder to stay away, to remain unmoved by his presence. She’d caused the family enough grief with the debacle of her love life. If she were to single out Moore, allow him to court her, London Society would have a fit. Not only had he married her best friend, but he was still in mourning. What a conundrum. “We’re friends, nothing more. His Grace is to return to Mountshaw very soon, for his children’s sake. I simply wished to see him before he left, to ensure all was well.” Isolde looked down at some parchment to hide the heat that bloomed on her cheeks at the lie. When did I become so scandalous?
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “If you say so, but you would tell me if what you say wasn’t your true thoughts, wouldn’t you? All we wish for you is happiness.”
“I am happy.” Isolde smiled and noted her sister’s stance relaxed a little at the falsehood she’d not caught. “I’m more than content, in fact. And as for the duke, I was simply being a friend. Nothing more, I assure you.”
Alice watched her for a moment longer and then nodded. “Very well. I’ll not delve further into the matter, and I will take you at your word, but know this, sister, the family would never wish for you to settle for anything other than what you want. No matter what has happened in the past. That is done with. It’s time to move on into the future and all the wonders that said future will bring.”
Isolde stood and, coming around her desk, hugged her sister. “I know and thank you. For a younger sibling, you’re more intelligent than I thought.”
Alice feigned insult. “I have my moments. You never learn anything in this Society if you’re smart. One must feign stupidity at times. There is nothing a gentleman or the matrons of the ton hate more than an intelligent woman who can say more than yes, no, and thank you.”
Isolde laughed, and Alice walked from the room. The moment the door closed, tears sprang to her eyes. She swiped at them—useless, unhelpful things. Crying would not help her now. Only a leap of faith would do that. And, right at this moment, Isolde was unsure if such a thing were possible, especially when it came to Moore, the man who’d already broken her heart.
…
Against Society’s rules, Merrick attended a
Shakespearean play for no reason other than Isolde would be there. He sat in the ducal box alone. Much to his surprise, he spied Wardoor for the first time since his night at the opium den, seated on the opposite side of the theater, his head dipped in quiet conversation with a party Merrick didn’t recognize.
A gentleman dandy in the pit shouted at one of the actors, and Merrick’s attention was temporarily diverted to see who was making such a racket. The play continued on as normal, and it was soon reasonably quiet once more.
Merrick leaned back in his chair and took in Isolde’s splendor, her delightful pink satin and cream silk gauze gown that fell about her like a second skin. She was perfection personified, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before. The thought of undoing the laces of the gown and stripping it from her body and kissing her sweet-smelling flesh, watching as she blushed under his touch, bombarded his mind, and he adjusted his seat.
He ignored the mumblings of his theater neighbors who made it known they did not approve his attendance. Words such as scandalous, heartless, unpardonable, were mentioned, and he ignored them all. If they knew just how terrible his marriage had been, that his wife was a mistress to many, perhaps even their own husbands, maybe their defamation of him would cease. With such thoughts, the never-ending guilt assailed him that Leonora had done what she had out of desperation to gain his attention. If she’d been a bad wife, he, too, had been a bad husband. And if that was the case, he deserved their censure.
Applause rang out as the curtains swung shut, and the lamps were turned up during intermission. Merrick stood, and walking from his private box, made his way to the Worthinghams’. The curtain was open, Lord and Lady Kinruth paying their regards, when he bowed to them all.
The Duchess of Penworth threw him a steely glare, her annoyance at his presence obvious to all who stood around him. He bowed. “Good evening, Your Grace, Lady Isolde.” Merrick clasped her hand, bowing over it and kissing it lightly. A shiver of awareness made her hand shake and he met her gaze, wishing they were alone so she could kiss away his uncertainties of not being worthy. Help him forget how cruel he’d been to his deceased wife.