He would proceed slowly. He intended for them to savor this evening and each other.
After closing the door and dropping the latch into place, John gave her his most charming smile. Then he sauntered across the chamber and set a bucket on the table.
“What do you have there?” Isabelle asked, standing beside him.
“I’ve kept a bottle of champagne chilling at the bottom of the well,” John answered.
“Your ingenuity is amazing.”
“May we still amaze each other forty years from now,” he said, pouring champagne into a mug.
John lifted it to her lips, and she took a sip. He drank from the spot her lips had touched.
After setting the mug on the table, John fixed his dark gaze on hers and began to undress. He yanked his boots and socks off and tossed them aside. Then he removed his shirt and trousers, until he stood in front of her wearing only his black silk underdrawers.
“Shall we go to bed?” John offered her his hand in invitation.
Isabelle placed her hand in his. John scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
“Wait,” Isabelle said, before he placed her on the bed.
John set her down on her feet. For one awful moment, he thought she’d changed her mind.
Surprising him, Isabelle slid the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders. It fluttered to the floor. All she wore was her glorious mane of spun-gold hair.
John worshipped her with his eyes. His gaze drifted from her face to her pink-tipped breasts and traveled down to her tiny waist, her slim, yet curvaceous hips, and finally to her dainty feet.
Isabelle gave him a soft smile when he raised his dark gaze to hers. And her unspoken invitation was irresistible.
Stepping closer, Isabelle entwined her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. She drew his head down and kissed him lingeringly
“I love you,” she whispered.
Her words and her beauty inflamed him. John rained feathery kisses down the slender column of her throat. He dropped his lips lower and kissed her aroused nipples. Isabelle moaned at the incredible sensation. He knelt in front of her, and his tongue slashed her moist crevice in a tender assault. When she gasped and tried to pull away, he cupped her buttocks and held her captive. Flicking his tongue up and down, John licked and nipped her female button. She cried out as waves of throbbing pleasure washed over her.
John stood then and would have scooped her into his arms, but Isabelle surprised him when she slid her hand down his chest to his nipples. Her lips followed her hand, and John’s breath caught in his throat.
Following his lead, Isabelle dropped to her knees in front of him and pressed her face against his groin. She reached up and slid his black slick drawers down, leaving him naked to her gaze.
Taking his manhood into her mouth, Isabelle sucked until it grew too big. Then she licked the long length of it, flicking her tongue this way and that on its ruby knob.
Unable to bear any more, John drew her up. He kissed her lingeringly and laid her on the bed.
Isabelle looked at him through eyes glazed with passion and held her arms out in invitation. John spread her thighs and mounted her, riding her in a wild frenzy.
Isabelle cried out at his entry. Mewling sounds welled up in her throat, urging him to thrust deeper and deeper. She arched her body and met each of his thrusts with her own.
John groaned and exploded with his wife. He shuddered as his seed flooded the deepest part of her.
Only their labored breathing broke the silence inside the lodge. Finally, John rolled to one side, pulling her with him. He planted a kiss on her forehead and smiled at her wondrous expression.
With her heart shining in her eyes, Isabelle looked up at him. “I love this wifely duty.”
John laughed. He’d heard sexual relations called a lot of things, but wifely duty wasn’t one of them.
“This particular ‘husbandly duty’ does bring me pleasure as well,” John agreed, drawing her head down to rest against his chest. “Sleep now.”
Isabelle closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep. In spite of his contentment, John lay awake with his thoughts.
Isabelle loved him, and he loved her. What prevented him from speaking those words aloud? He was allowing his late-wife’s treachery to doubt this innocent in his arms. He was glad for this time alone with Isabelle. For now, he could show her how much he loved her, even if he couldn’t yet speak the words.
And what about Lily? Isabelle had become deeply attached to the girl, and if the truth were told, so had he. His thoughts traveled the long distance to London, and he wondered if Ross had learned anything concerning Lily’s parentage.
And then there was the matter of who had tried to kill him. He couldn’t believe that William Grimsby hated him enough to see him dead and deJewell was too much of a weakling to consider. He must have dozens of enemies, businessmen who’d lost profits to his success. Here in the Highlands, he was beyond reach. He would worry about the assassin when he returned to England.
Sated and content, John closed his eyes and joined his wife in sleep.
* * *
“Wake up, darling.”
Isabelle heard the voice, but kept her eyes closed for another moment. The husky sound of her husband’s voice warmed her all over, and the faintest of smiles touched her lips.
Opening her eyes, Isabelle blinked at the blinding sunshine streaming into the lodge through the window beside the bed. She looked at her husband, who perched at the edge of the bed.
“Good morning,” John said, holding up a bowl. “I’ve made you oatmeal porridge.”
Isabelle sat up and leaned back against the headboard. Holding the blanket up to cover her nakedness, she pushed several recalcitrant wisps of spun-gold hair off her face.
Bare-chested, John wore only his black trousers. Isabelle felt a melting sensation in the pit of her stomach at the intimacy they’d shared the previous night.
“It’s hunger,” John said, as if he could read her thoughts.
Isabelle blushed and reached out with one hand for the bowl. When she lifted the spoon to her mouth, the blanket slipped to her waist.
Her blush deepened to a vibrant scarlet. Before she could yank the blanket up, John caressed her breasts. Her nipples hardened in arousal, and she sucked in her breath.
“Darling, there’ll be time for that later,” John teased her. “Do you want to learn how to make bannocks?”
Isabelle nodded. “Where’s my nightgown?”
John looked around. His black silk bed robe was closer, so he lifted it off the floor. “Wear this.” He rose from his perch on the edge of the bed and headed for the door. “I’ll feed and water the horses first.”
Setting the bowl of porridge aside, Isabelle stood and slipped into his robe. She paused for a moment to inhale his scent of mountain heather and then washed her hands and face from the bucket of cold water. By the time her husband returned, she was sitting at the table and eating her porridge.
“People learn by doing,” John told her. “So follow my instructions carefully.”
Isabelle nodded. “Very well.”
“I’ve already begun heating the griddle, that cast-iron plate,” he said. “Check its temperature, but never—”
Isabelle touched the griddle with her finger and screeched in pain. John walked over to her, grabbed her hand, and plunged it into the bucket of cold water. “I was about to say not to touch it. Always leave an inch of empty space between your hand and the griddle.” He lifted her hand out of the water and inspected it. “I’ll make the bannocks. Watch what I do.”
Isabelle watched her husband cooking the bannocks. Who could have guessed that the illustrious Duke of Avon would be at home in a kitchen? Or that he wore black silk underdrawers?
“These are delicious,” Isabelle said. “I would walk through a pack of hungry wolves to eat these bannocks.”
“The English wolf is extinct and has been extinct for many ye
ars.”
“How sad.”
“You know, I’m beginning to miss Lily’s chatter,” John said.
Isabelle smiled, pleased with her husband’s progress in accepting his daughter. “I miss her, too. Do you want to go home and see her?”
“Juniper will take good care of her until we return. Come here.”
When she stood and walked around the table, John pulled her down on his lap and kissed her. “And what would you like to do today?” he asked. “Pick early berries? Roll down the sides of hills?”
Isabelle shifted her gaze to the unmade bed.
“We can do that too.”
That week of marital bliss passed much too quickly for John and Isabelle. They savored each moment together. Isabelle’s favorite day was the one that rained. She liked the indoor games that she and her husband played.
Both John and Isabelle were loath to leave on the day of their departure and lingered in bed all morning long. They set out for Kilchurn Castle long after the sun had reached its highest point in the sky. They rode through the magnificent forest with its century-old beeches and beautiful beds of bracken. The trees thinned out all too soon, heralding the moor with its enlarging carpet of purple heather.
Reaching the crest of the moor, the breathtaking spectacle of Loch Awe burst into view. Dotted with islets and overhung by Ben Cruachan, Loch Awe appeared like an earthly paradise and Kilchurn like an enchanted castle.
Isabelle felt as though she’d come home. For the first time in her life, she had a loving family around her. Isabelle could hardly wait to see Lily, Giselle, Juniper, and even Dobbs.
A small army of groomsmen materialized as soon as John and Isabelle halted their horses. John dismounted and then helped Isabelle off her horse.
“You’re home!”
Isabelle turned around to see Lily running toward her. She bent down and opened her arms for the little girl, who hugged her as if she’d never let her go.
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back to me,” Lily cried.
“I would never leave you,” Isabelle assured her, holding her close. “Did you really miss us?”
Lily nodded. Leaning closer, she added in a loud whisper, “Dobbs and Juniper know nothing about riding ponies. They insisted I keep my two feet planted on the ground.”
John lifted Lily into his arms. “How about a welcome home kiss?”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, Lily gave his cheek a wet smacking kiss.
“Welcome home, Your Graces,” Dobbs greeted them.
“Welcome home,” Juniper added.
“It’s good to be home,” Isabelle said, and looked at Lily. “His Grace and I are very hungry. I hope you haven’t eaten our supper.”
“We saved it for you.”
With Lily between them, John and Isabelle walked inside and went to the dining room. Dobbs and Juniper followed behind, but left them in the foyer in order to continue with their household tasks.
Several footmen served them fried strips of veal and a seasonal vegetable medley in a basil vinegar. Scottish burnt cream was for dessert.
“Did you have fun?” Lily asked, unable to keep her gaze off them for even one moment.
“Yes, we did,” Isabelle answered. “Next month, His Grace is going to take both of us to his lodge.”
Lily clapped her hands together in excitement and turned to John. “What did you do at the lodge?”
John cast his wife a sidelong smile before answering. “We did lots and lots of fun things.”
“Lady Belle, you must be sick,” Lily said. “Your face is red.”
John smiled at that and Isabelle sent him an unamused look. “I’m only tired,” she told the little girl.
“You better go to bed.”
“That’s what made her tired,” John said.
“Bull’s pizzle,” Lily scoffed. “Going to bed doesn’t make people tired.”
Isabelle turned her head to stare at her husband. John shrugged and raised his eyebrows.
Much later Isabelle escorted Lily to her chamber and then went to her own bedchamber. Lord, she was tired. And happy. She changed into her nightgown and, without bothering to brush her hair, slipped into bed.
“Your honeymoon was better than a daydream,” Giselle said, materializing to perch on the edge of the bed. “Does His Grace know about the baby?”
Isabelle gave her a blank stare. “What baby?”
“Come the spring, you will deliver your own baby.”
“That is too incredible.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
Isabelle shook her head.
“Have I ever been wrong about anything I’ve told you?”
Again, Isabelle shook her head.
“Trust me, child,” Giselle said. “A year from now you will have become a mother.”
Isabelle smiled at the prospect of having her own baby. A year from now she would be the mother of two: Lily and—“Is it a boy or a girl?”
Giselle shrugged.
“You know what it is,” Isabelle said. “Don’t play games with me.”
“Guessing what the babe will be is part of the fun,” the old woman told her. “I would never deprive you of that.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“Here comes your prince.” Giselle disappeared.
The bedchamber door opened, and John walked in. He went to the bed and gave Isabelle a chaste kiss. She knew she must have looked disappointed, because he smiled and teased, “I’m only a man and need to take my clothing off.”
Isabelle blushed. Her embarrassment didn’t prevent her from watching her husband strip down to his black silk underdrawers.
“Whenever I look at Lily, I imagine you as a young girl,” John said, slipping into bed. “You know, I couldn’t love her more if I was in truth her father.”
“I love her too,” Isabelle said, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t understand how Lisette could abandon her.”
John caressed her cheek. “I’ve decided to adopt Lily when we return to London so that no one—not even Lisette—can ever take her away from us.”
Isabelle rose up on her elbow to look down on him. She lowered her lips to his and poured all her love into a single, stirring kiss.
“Go to sleep, my lovely violet in the snow.”
“I don’t want to go to sleep.”
“I do want to sleep,” he said. “I never realized how draining happiness can be.”
Isabelle slid the palm of her hand down the length of his body to his groin and slipped her fingers beneath the black silk underdrawers. “Could you manage to stay awake for just a little while longer?”
Ever so gently, John flipped her onto her back. “I think I can manage that.”
* * *
John awakened with the dawn. Intending to go for an early ride, he dressed in silence and left the chamber.
Reaching the first floor, John cut down the corridor that led to the rear of the castle, where the stables were located. Clad in her bed robe, Mrs. Juniper stood midway down the long corridor outside the chapel room. Her presence there surprised him, but as he approached, the nanny put a finger across her lips in a signal for silence and gestured toward the chapel’s open door.
John peered inside and saw Lily. The little girl had just reached the altar at the end of the aisle and was kneeling.
“What is she doing?” John asked, lowering his voice.
“Lily insisted she needed to talk to God,” Juniper whispered.
John rolled his eyes and stood poised in the doorway. He was about to turn away, leaving Juniper to wait for her, when he heard her speak.
“God?” Lily called, her voice sounding loud in the quietness of the chapel. “Are you there, God?”
John felt his lips twitch with the urge to laugh. He stepped inside the chapel to listen.
“It’s me, Lily.”
Silence.
“Lily Dupre.”
John bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. The girl
was more entertaining than a Drury Lane production.
“I know what You’re thinking, God, but I haven’t come to ask for anything.” Then she amended herself. “Yes, a pony would be nice, but I could live without one . . . if necessary. I came here to thank You for answering one of my prayers. Do You remember all those nights I asked You to send me a father?”
John lost his smile and, on silent feet, started down the aisle. He stopped before he reached the altar.
“Thank You, God, for sending me a wonderful father—even though I must call him Your Grace.” Lily held her hands up, saying, “I’m not complaining, but—” She hesitated as if reluctant to ask for anything more.
Drawing her attention, John closed the short distance between them. He knelt beside her at the altar, but did not look at her.
“God, are You listening?” John called, and then waited.
Lily leaned close. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. He hears you.”
John nodded and continued, “God, I’m here to thank You for sending me my wonderful daughter—only I wish she would call me Papa.”
Lily squealed with delight and, as he turned to her, threw herself into his embrace. “My papa,” she said, placing the palm of her hand against his cheek.
John grinned. “May I call you Lily?”
“Yes, you may.” Lily answered, nodding her head. “Do you think Lady Belle will let me call her Mama?”
“Yes, you may.” The voice came from the rear of the chapel room.
Lily whirled toward Isabelle. Releasing her father, she ran down the aisle and hugged her. A sudden frown marred the child’s expression. “What about Lisette?”
“You’ll have two mothers,” Isabelle answered. “Come and sit with me.” She led the little girl into the last row of pews and sat down. “When we return to London, your papa is going to adopt you. That means you’ll share the same name.”
“Your name will be Lily?” she asked him.
John laughed and then explained, “No, sweetheart, your name will become Lily Saint-Germain, because my name is John Saint-Germain.”
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