“I don’t want you to control yourself,” announced Isabel without a blush. “I want you to come upstairs with me now.”
She feared she’d gone too far when she heard Somerset gulp and then say nothing. But, oh, she needed him. Badly. Her nipples were dimpled and aching, the pressure between her thighs was so great, she felt as if she’d die unless it were relieved, and she had gooseflesh everywhere.
Before she could apologize or scream or run from the room in shame, Somerset shocked her nearly into a faint by scooping her right up from the floor. She clung to his strong shoulders with a soaring heart. He was going to do it! Somerset FitzRoy, the man of her dreams, was going to succumb to passion and bed her before they were married. Isabel considered that an extremely fortunate circumstance, since they most likely wouldn’t be married at all.
“Which way to the stairs?”
Isabel considered it a good sign that he sounded as eager—or perhaps desperate was a better word—as she felt. “Out the door and straight ahead.”
He took off, walking fast. “Are we liable to run into anyone? I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”
“No. Everyone’s gone to bed long ago except Loretta and Marjorie, and they’re at a concert and won’t be back until after midnight.”
“Good.” He strode to the staircase and climbed, taking the stairs two at a time.
“You’re very strong, Somerset,” Isabel murmured, enjoying the sensation of being carried in this dramatic, knight-in-shining-armor fashion.
“It’s from all the tree-planting I do,” he said, beginning to be a trifle short of breath. “Which room is yours?”
“Down the hall and to the right. My room is the second door. It’s not locked.”
“Good.” He didn’t speak again until they got to her door. Then he faced a dilemma.
Isabel solved it for him. “Turn me around and I’ll open the door.”
“Good idea.” He did as she’d suggested, and so did she, and Somerset marched her through the door and into her bedroom. Then he stopped and looked around. “Nice place Loretta has here.”
“It’s like a palace,” Isabel agreed. “But I like your house better. It . . . it touches something in me.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m hoping to do the same, very soon.”
She chuckled softly, glad he hadn’t misplaced his sense of humor during this moment of high passion. “If you’ll put me down, I’ll lock the door connecting my room to Eunice’s. Every now and then she has nightmares. Well, I told you about them.”
“Yes. I’m sorry about that.” He set her gently on her feet. “I had nightmares for the first few weeks, but haven’t had any for a month or so.”
Isabel kicked off her shoes before going to Eunice’s door. Her room boasted a thick carpet, thanks to Loretta’s generosity, but Isabel didn’t want to take any chances that she’d make noise. She turned the key, feeling guilty, then told herself that if Eunice had a bad dream, she could knock. Isabel would hear her.
She returned to Somerset and took his hand. Peering into his beautiful eyes, she said, “I still have bad dreams sometimes. I expect we’re not the only ones.”
“No. I’m sure we’re not.” He lifted her hands and kissed her palms, one at a time. “Are you sure about this, Isabel? If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll understand.” With a strained smile, he added, “It’ll probably kill me, but I’d certainly understand and respect your wishes.”
He was the most wonderful man in the world. Isabel shook her head. “I haven’t changed my mind. I only hope you won’t believe me to be abandoned beyond redemption.”
“Lord, no!” Again, he picked her up. This time he took her straight to the four-poster bed decorated with a lovely blue counterpane. “I’ve been wanting to do this forever, Isabel. Since that awful night on the ship, believe it or not.”
In spite of herself, Isabel felt her eyes fill with tears. “I was so upset because I hadn’t asked your name, Somerset. I wanted to pray for you, but I didn’t know your name.”
“You’ll share it soon.”
“Yes.” She didn’t want to think about that, since she feared he was incorrect on that score. Instead, she said, “Will you help me with my buttons? My shirtwaist buttons down the back.”
“Gladly.”
They undressed each other. Isabel was glad she danced for a living, because her employment precluded corsets and stays. Therefore, undressing was a much less cumbersome procedure than it might have been.
They both took their time at first, savoring the discovery of each other’s bodies. Isabel felt as if she were melting into the sheets sometimes, Somerset’s tender caresses were so inspiring. As need climbed in both of them, their movements became quicker.
Panting, Isabel said, “Let me unbutton your shirt, Somerset.”
“Gladly. I’ll just slip these straps off your shoulders and . . .” His words trailed off as he gazed at the swell of Isabel’s breast, revealed when she shrugged off her unbuttoned shirtwaist and he first glimpsed her upper torso. He licked his lips. “You’re beautiful, Isabel. I knew you would be.”
“Thank you.” Her fingers trembled slightly, but she managed to unbutton the last of his shirt buttons. With a yank, she pulled the shirt down until the sleeves caught because the cuffs were still buttoned. She briefly cursed her stupidity before becoming enchanted by his musculature. “Oh, my, so are you.”
Somerset didn’t bother with his cuff buttons. He tore his shirt off, popping buttons off both cuffs, then flung it aside. Reaching for Isabel, he pulled her to his chest, and for the first time, Isabel felt him without layers and layers of fabric between the two of them.
There was, however, one layer left, and she aimed to correct that problem at once. “Just a minute,” she whispered, pulling slightly away from him.
“Hey,” he said, but didn’t continue his protest when he realized what she planned.
With one sinuous movement, Isabel rose to her knees, whipped off her lace-trimmed petticoat. Then she knelt before him, bare but for her black silk stockings, tied this evening with plain white garters. If she’d known this was going to happen, she’d have worn more exciting garters.
Somerset didn’t seem to mind. His eyes examined her from the top of her head to her knees. She saw him swallow. He said, “My God. I’ve been longing for this moment ever since I first laid eyes on you, Isabel. I love you.”
He loved her? Isabel stared at him, amazed. “You do? You didn’t say so before.”
“Didn’t I?” He swallowed again and reached for her right garter. “I meant to. At least, I think I did. I do love you. That’s why I want to marry you. I mean . . . Oh, hell.”
And with that, he flung away her right garter, untied her left and consigned it to the floor, then tore off his own undershirt and wrapped her in his arms. Isabel would have cried out in rapture, except for Eunice being in the other room.
She had craved this for so long. It had been years since she’d lain with a man, and then it hadn’t been like this. Then, it had been hurried and fumbling, and it had left Isabel craving fulfillment. Not this time. This time she was with a man who cared about her. Loved her. Wanted to please her as much as he wanted to be pleased. His big rough hands stroked her back, making tingles dance through her. He was so big, and so warm, and so wonderful. Isabel felt cherished for the first time in her life.
Her breasts felt as if they were on fire, pressed against his chest as they were. She wanted to run her fingers through his chest hair. She wanted to feel him, to caress the silky length of his sex, to kiss him everywhere.
Very gently, Somerset laid her back on the bed, then stood, unbuttoned his trousers, and pushed them off, along with his drawers. Before Isabel could fully appreciate how very large he was—in every way—he joined her on the bed. “Don’t be frightened, Isabel,” he whispered.
Frightened? Was he teasing her? But no. He was worried lest she fear his possession of her body. She’d heard so many stories
about women who fled from the marriage bed. She wasn’t one of them. She had considered this a flaw in her nature until this minute. “I’m not frightened, Somerset.”
He smiled as his hand cupped her breast. Isabel thought she might die from the pleasure of his touch. “Good. That’s right, you’ve been married before. You know what to expect.”
No, she didn’t. She’d never felt like this. And he wanted to marry her. Isabel felt truly blessed, and only wished the condition would last. Since it wouldn’t—couldn’t—she aimed to enjoy this experience to the full.
Since he was paying attention to her breasts, bless him, she decided to do some exploring of her own. Tentatively, she reached down and found his shaft. It was hot and silky, hard as stone, and much larger than she’d expected. Goodness, maybe she was afraid—a little. He moaned softly, and Isabel forgot about worrying if he’d fit. Gently, gently, she stroked him. With his hand still on her breast, he buried his head in a pillow, as if in an ecstasy of arousal. Good.
“That feels so good,” came, muffled, from beside her.
Isabel turned a little and kissed the back of his neck. He was as hot as a cannon barrel. “I’m glad.”
Suddenly, he lifted his head and turned over, taking Isabel with him until she was on top of him. “But I can’t take much more of that, because I’m about to explode.”
“No? Well, then, perhaps we should move on.” She knew she was ready. She’d never felt this kind of pressure before, this longing for release.
Somerset caught his breath. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Leaning over, she kissed him hard as she reached to guide him home. She slid over him as if they’d been made to fit together. Somerset closed his eyes, threw his head back, and groaned.
Slowly at first, Isabel rode him. She hadn’t believed she could be so brazen, but it felt too good to stop. As the pressure inside her grew, she speeded up, until she felt as if she were riding a storm.
And then, all at once, everything inside her first clenched and then shattered into a million sparks. She gasped, cried, “Somerset!” softly, then collapsed on top of him as shudders and tremors shook her body.
“Ah, God, Isabel. That was so good.” He turned over, taking her with him, until he was poised above her, braced with his bulging arms. “You’re so beautiful. So beautiful.”
Before Isabel had recovered from her own release, Somerset began moving in her. He wasn’t gentle this time, and Isabel was on the verge of climaxing a second time when his release came, taking her with him into another crescendo of sensation.
A few minutes later, Somerset’s arms enfolded her, and Isabel felt as if she’d finally found a safe haven from life’s storms. It was an illusion, but such a pleasant one she opted not to worry about the truth for a couple of hours.
Chapter Seventeen
If the world were a kind and just place, Somerset thought as he lay next to Isabel, exhausted and totally content, he would be able to remain with her all night long and no one would bat an eye. The world being what it was, he knew he’d have to drive himself home, and soon, or her reputation would be in tatters.
She stirred, and he turned onto his side, marveling at her body, perfect in every way. “Dancing must be good for you, Isabel. You’re beautiful everywhere.”
Her smile was dreamy. “Thank you. You are, too.” Then she blushed and hid her face in the pillow.
With a laugh, and although he didn’t want to do it, Somerset swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I suppose I have to go home?” His voice lifted at the end of the sentence to make it a question, although he already knew the answer.
She heaved a huge sigh. “Yes. I suppose so.”
Sitting on the bed next to her, he took her hand and kissed it. “You know, Isabel, I’ve been trying since the day we met to decide what color your eyes are.”
Opening those spectacular eyes in surprise, she stared at him. “They’re blue.”
He grinned. “Yes, but they’re not just any old ordinary blue. And they’re not Dampiera diversifolia blue or Exacum affine blue, and they’re not the blue of Consolida ambigua or the blue of the sky or of Catananche caerulea.
With a laugh, she hugged him. He returned the hug with interest. “You really have thought about this, haven’t you?”
“You bet.” Since they were already in each other’s arms, he decided a kiss wouldn’t be amiss, so he kissed her. He didn’t dare allow his lips to linger for fear he wouldn’t be able to stop. With a gasp, he drew away, wishing he didn’t have to. “I’ve seen a Violaceae—Viola sororia—that’s almost the blue of your eyes.” Judging from the look in those eyes that she had no idea what he was talking about, he elaborated. “That’s a gray-blue pansy.”
“I’m very fond of pansies.”
“And a certain wild flower I saw in New Hampshire comes close. I have a specimen but I haven’t identified it yet. It’s probably some kind of anchusa.”
“I love you, Somerset.”
“I love you, Isabel. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”
Her grin broadened. “You saved Eunice’s life and drew a picture of a weed.”
He laughed and stood up, looking at the floor and hoping he’d be able to find all of his clothes.
“There’s a bathroom right over there, if you want to wash up.” Isabel pointed and yawned. Small wonder, considering her schedule for the past several days.
“I won’t be long,” he promised.
“Don’t be loud, either. There’s nobody in the room on the other side of the bathroom, but it’s probably best not to tempt the fates.” With a sigh, she, too, got up from the bed.
“Good idea. I’ll be very quiet.”
They both froze when the doorknob on the door connecting Isabel’s room with Eunice’s rattled. Isabel said, “Oh, dear.”
Somerset said, “Let me grab my things.”
“I’ll help.”
Stark naked, they both scrambled around the room, picking up discarded clothing. Isabel thrust his shoes into his arm and hissed, “You’ll have to leave from the door leading from the bathroom to the hall.”
“Mama? Mama, I had another dream.” Eunice sounded sleepy but not terribly distressed. Perhaps this wasn’t one of her nightmares, but only a dream that had awakened her.
“Bloody hell,” Isabel whispered, then slapped a hand over her mouth.
But Somerset only grinned. “I love you, Isabel.” He leaned down and kissed her.
“I love you, too, Somerset.” If only she could marry him.
“Mama?”
“Oh, dear.” Isabel raced to her dresser and opened a drawer. Somerset watched appreciatively and decided clothing was highly overrated. “I’ll be right there, sweetie!”
“I guess I have to go, then,” Somerset said upon a sigh. “Do I have everything?”
“I hope so.” Drawing on a dressing gown, Isabel searched the room, looking frantic.
“Don’t worry about it. If I’ve left anything, I can get it later.”
“But I don’t want Eunice to see!”
Right. Somerset made another quick perusal of the room, determined that he had everything he’d flung off in such haste, and decided that the next time they did this, they’d do it at his house.
He could hardly wait.
# # #
Isabel hastily pushed her hair out of her face, glanced in the mirror, hoped Eunice wouldn’t be as discerning as she normally was, and went to the door. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked it and drew it open. “Come in, sweetie. I’m sorry I took so long.”
Eunice frowned at her, puzzled. “Why did you lock the door, Mama? Do you not like me to come into your room at night?”
Guilt gnawed at Isabel’s heart as her ears tried to discern the sounds of Somerset using the washing facilities. She picked her daughter up and hugged her hard. “Good heavens, no, sweetheart. I don’t mind at all when you come into my room at night.” Before Eunice could ask another question or dem
and that Isabel answer the first of her original ones, she went on, “Did you have another bad dream, sweetie? I’m so sorry.”
She carried her to the bed, noticed a telltale wet spot, cursed herself for forgetting to pull up the sheets earlier, and did so. Then she sat, settling her daughter on her lap.
“Yes,” said Eunice, scanning the room in, Isabel presumed, an effort to ascertain why her mother was behaving so strangely. Fortunately for Isabel, mention of the dream distracted her. “Oh, but I have to tell you, Mama, that Dr. Freud was right.”
So far from her daughter’s problems had Isabel drifted during the past couple of hours that at first Eunice’s reference to Dr. Freud didn’t register in its proper context. She looked at her daughter in horror, recollecting some of the things she’d read in Dr. Freud’s book. “I thought I’d hidden that!”
Eunice frowned slightly. “Why did you hide it? Anyhow, you couldn’t hide this one because it was at school. Miss Pinkney lent it me.”
“Oh.” Isabel remember that her daughter had only been interested in dreams and relaxed slightly. “You mean you . . .” But Isabel couldn’t remember what Eunice had planned to do with her dreams. What a terrible mother she was!
“Yes!” Eunice said in triumph, evidently not worried about her mother’s parental worth at the moment. “I had another dream about the ship sinking, only instead of Rebecca and Lillian, the people in the ocean whom I was trying to save were you and Mr. FitzRoy.”
Isabel heard a clunk from the bathroom, and presumed that Somerset had dropped a shoe. She pretended she hadn’t heard it. “I’m very sorry, sweetheart. It must have been frightening to see your mother and Mr. FitzRoy in the water.”
After a brief glance at the bathroom door, Eunice seemed to lose interest in the errant noise. She nodded. “It was awful. But before I went to sleep, I did what the book suggested and told myself that if I had a bad dream, I would remember it was only a dream and wake up. The book calls it lucid dreaming.”
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