Virtue and Vice

by Kimberly Brody

  Now she wouldn’t have to be the bearer of bad news. A selfish thought, aye, but one that brought great relief because not for one moment would she ever wish pain on her best friend. It troubled her that Izzy’s father had arranged a marriage against her will, but she also knew he was a fair man who loved his only daughter fiercely. He would never make a bad decision where Izzy was concerned, and if he had faith in this viscount, then so would Belinda. And Izzy would someday as well, once she resigned herself to her fate. Her cousin did all things with great gusto, and once this marriage was a fait acompli, she would throw herself into the role of wife and viscountess and eventual mother, as if she’d always wanted it.

  When enough time had passed and Belinda knew Izzy had truly gone, she slid from the bed and retreated to her own chamber where she hurried to dress. She had recognized the look in her cousin’s eyes. Izzy was up to something likely to land her in a heap of trouble, something she particularly excelled at. It would be best to follow at a distance and keep a discreet eye on her.

  ***

  Ram paced back and forth before the riverbank, anxiously awaiting Izzy’s arrival. Would she come? Aside from the brief disagreement with his father earlier, he’d thought of little else since he’d watched her walk away when he’d left her the night before. Just the thought of seeing her again lifted his flagging spirits almost the moment he’d stalked from his father’s study.

  He hoped she didn’t feel poorly this morning from all the ale she’d consumed. Because even if she did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands to himself. Should he whisk her off to Wadebridge and let a room at an inn for the day, or lay the blanket he’d brought with him on the ground right there beside the river?

  God, what was wrong with him? He ran his fingers through his hair. This was ridiculous. He was supposed to be in Cornwall spying on his soon-to-be-bride, or even better, ferreting out any reason why she wouldn’t make a good bride. Yet he couldn’t take his thoughts off his mystery maiden long enough to concentrate on his betrothed.

  Mercury nickered and Ram whirled about, knowing the sound heralded her arrival. His breath caught, and he almost choked. Izzy? Was she wearing breeches? He watched the vision before him as it grew nearer, breathing harder the closer she came. Those pert lips that haunted his dreams all evening long were quirked in a grin and wisps of chestnut curls escaped her loose braid. There was no denying it was Izzy; she was indeed dressed in breeches and a plain, billowy white shirt, but that garment couldn’t conceal the high curves of her breasts or the gentle flare of her hips. Dear God, she was of short stature, but the snug doeskin breeches encased legs that seemed to go on forever. His attention focused on the juncture of her thighs, visible though her shirt, which hung only to her hips. He swallowed hard.

  Then he found himself frowning at her hair, braided and tucked under a cap. That wouldn’t do at all. She needed that glorious chestnut hair spilling all about her shoulders and down her back as she’d had it yesterday. He’d remedy that straight away.

  He strode towards her with purpose, intending a greeting, but it died on his lips when he saw the hunger in her eyes. Instead, as soon as she was within reach he grasped her shoulders and hauled her against him, swooping down to capture her mouth with his. He tore the cap from her head and shook out the braid, letting her hair flow around them. Then he slipped his hands beneath the shirt and found her bare breasts. She gasped in pleasure, straining against him as if trying to get closer as he cupped them in his palms, feeling their weight in his hands. She was perfection. Yet hadn’t he known she would be?

  Her hands clutched at his back, then slid around to his front to explore the planes of his chest as though she’d never before touched a man. He loved that he excited her as much as she did him. He tore his mouth from hers, gasping heavily. The riverbank it would be. “Wait here.”

  She stood with glazed eyes as he turned to Mercury and grabbed the blanket draped over the horse’s rump, then shook it out, laying it upon the ground.

  He knelt on the blanket and reached out a hand. She stepped to his side and took it without hesitation. He lowered her down to the ground, rolling his body over hers. Finally, he was where he most desired to be.

  He studied her face in the light of day, obsessed with her all over again. She had the most adorable nose. Small, with a slight tip up at the end, it was irresistible. He feathered kisses over it before moving on to her cheeks, her forehead, and finally her lips. When their mouths met, it was like flame set to kindling. They exploded all over again, her mouth opening to accept his eagerly seeking tongue.

  He wasted no time now. His hands lowered to the hem of her shirt, tugging upwards, lifting it slowly over her head, baring her to his gaze. He froze at the loveliness revealed before him. Her breasts were divine. Pale and uplifted, her nipples a dusty rose color, he watched in fascination as they came to attention only from the force of his stare. God, if she was so responsive to just a look, what would her response be when he buried his tongue between her legs?

  He’d soon find out.

  Reverently he bent his head and touched his tongue to one peak, reveling in her gasp and the way her body surged upwards. He laved her, using his teeth to gently scrape, then his tongue to circle round and round the taut peak and finally pulling the whole of her nipple into his mouth to suckle. He cupped her other breast, flicking the sensitized tip with his thumb.

  Her soft cries of pleasure were an aphrodisiac, building his excitement to new heights. But before he gave into his desires he wanted to worship the temple of her body in all its glory.

  As his mouth returned to find hers, his fingers moved with deft swiftness to the fastenings of her breeches. He nibbled at her lips as he unfastened them and received no protest. Taking that as a good sign, he slid them down her hips. Excitement leapt in his veins as he discovered she wore nothing beneath. His cock strained against his own breeches, begging to be freed, but he gritted his teeth, holding himself in check. There’d be plenty of time for his pleasure, later.

  Drifting his hand over her flat belly, he drew light circles around her navel with his fingers, delighting in the soft gasps escaping her lips. Finally, he allowed himself the luxury of running his fingers through the damp curls between her legs. The touch ignited her. She bit down on his lip and he growled, pressing her head back with the force of his kiss as he ground his palm against the juncture of her thighs. The cry that escaped her lips was so primal, urging him on.

  Suddenly her hands were everywhere. She laced her fingers through his hair, tugging almost painfully, sliding them down his front and under his shirt. She pushed it up as she explored his body. He almost lost control when she flicked her fingernail against his nipple.

  Little hellcat! He’d be the one to control this encounter, her pleasure. There’d be time enough for her to take control another time, now was about his domination of her. He slid his hands up her arms, bringing both of her wrists together above her head, pinning them there in one of his hands. She twisted against the captivity but went still when he returned his free hand between her legs. She arched upwards as his finger stroked her slick folds, coating his finger in dewy moisture as he explored her flesh with leisure. She was so hot, so wet, and his shaft jumped, longing to take the place of his finger.

  When his seeking fingers found her swollen nub she went still beneath him. He teased without mercy, pulling back from her mouth to watch her face as he traced the delicate spot, applying more and more pressure as he sped his movements, learning exactly which caresses drove her wild. Her eyes shut and her mouth parted. Her breathing became shallow and unsteady. She was reaching the precipice, ready to go over the edge with the smallest nudge.

  Without stopping the circular movement, he slid his middle finger into her tight sheath and she exploded around him, crying out so loudly that birds flew from the trees. Her head thrashed from side to side as her body pulsed around him. The sheer beauty of her climax mesmerized him. The look of awe in her eyes w
as like that of a woman experiencing release for the first time, and he swelled with pride and gladness to be the one who’d pleasured her so. He had given her that. Her body continued to weep around his fingers as he softened his strokes until her convulsing slowed, then finally stopped.

  Releasing her hands from above her head, he pressed a kiss to her lips. She was magnificent. The moment she recovered her breath, he would slide inside her beautiful, welcoming body, and bring her an even more intense release.

  ***

  Awe filled Izzy. Never in all her imaginings had she ever thought being made love to could feel so incredible. Her body was sated and languid; she couldn’t have lifted a limb if her life depended on it. And they’d only just begun!

  Julian smiled down at her with such tenderness, his grey eyes soft, and something in her heart turned over, hard. The languorousness faded and she reached for him, sliding her arms around his neck, luxuriating in the feel of his raven hair between her fingers before pulling his head down so she could meld her mouth to his in wordless appreciation. His kiss was hot, possessive, and need flared between them all over again. He covered her with his body, supporting his weight with his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his back, feeling the muscles jump beneath her seeking hands. His hardness pressed against the juncture of her thighs, the only barrier between them the breeches he still wore.

  Just as she gathered the courage to reach down and release him from the bondage of his garment, a thrashing came from the trees, along with the faint cry of “Izzy!”

  That sounds like Belinda!

  She gasped and struggled beneath Julian to extricate herself from his embrace, whispering, “I must dress. ‘Tis my cousin!”

  A sound of frustration escaped him, but he leapt from her, grabbing her hand and lifting her to her feet. As she yanked her breeches up to her waist and fastened them, Julian snatched her white shirt from the ground and brought it over her head. She slid her arms into the sleeves. It settled around her waist just as Belinda came into view, riding her dappled mare.

  Bel drew the horse to a halt upon spotting them, her eyes widening in surprise and horror. But soon enough, she recovered her power of speech.

  “Izzy Beaumont, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Chapter 6

  Ram stiffened. Beaumont? The new arrival advanced on them, and Izzy widened the gap between herself and him. As if even fully clothed, there was any doubt as to what they’d been doing, with her hair in disarray and a blanket laid on the ground.

  She gave him a tremulous smile, whispering, “I must go, I’m so sorry.” He managed a curt nod, unable to speak over the tumultuous thoughts churning in his mind.

  “Meet me on the morrow?” She asked under her breath, mirroring his words of the night before.

  He nodded again and she sprinted from his side, leading the girl on the horse away from him. As they disappeared from sight he clenched his fists at his side.

  Beaumont!

  Izzy…most certainly was a nickname for Isabelle. Why hadn’t he realized that before? Because in his own mind he’d referred to his betrothed only as the Beaumont girl, never by her actual name. His mystery maiden was Isabelle Beaumont, his betrothed! Hadn’t he known from her speech and her mannerisms she was no peasant? How could he have not made the connection earlier?

  Because he’d been thinking with his cock, instead of his brain.

  Izzy was Isabelle Beaumont; the woman he already adored was to become his wife in only a matter of weeks.

  His heart leapt with the knowledge she was the one. His father was right, the rumors all true. She was a great beauty. Someday she’d be a magnificent Countess.

  And then the malicious truth came hard on the heels of euphoria. His betrothed was gallivanting about the countryside, dressing like a peasant and in those bloody breeches, intending to bed a perfect stranger, with nary a thought to the wedding contract she’d signed. She had no idea he was Ramsay Maitland, not Julian James. Yet she’d been moments away from giving her body to a virtual stranger.

  Cold rage washed over him with such force he began to shake. She meant to cuckold him even before they were wed! She’d played him for a fool!

  The nearest solid object to him was a stout tree, and he smashed his fist against it, reveling in the pain the blow brought. He should have known something like this would happen, for weren’t most highborn women hussies to their core, just like his mother?

  And now he was betrothed to one no different than his dam. Nay, he would not end up like his father, pretending ignorance as his wife’s belly grew round with the fruit planted by another man’s seed. And if his mother and the child had survived the birth, his father would have claimed the child as his own, rather than risk scandal and dishonor. Ram would be damned before he allowed that to happen!

  ‘Twas the real reason behind his father’s distaste for the royal court and the lifestyle that accompanied it. The lax morals at St. James’s had been his wife’s downfall. The Earl had never been a true Parliamentarian or Puritan; he’d only been disgusted by the immorality and excess amongst the court of the first King Charles. Ram was no Puritan; he liked immorality and excess as much as the next man, often he engaged in both with the next man’s wife; but his own wife would be pure and demure. If that made him a hypocrite, it was too bloody bad.

  Isabelle Beaumont wasn’t pure or demure. She was a slut. Marriage to her was impossible now. He had the proof he’d come for, even if he’d found it in a rather unexpected manner. Now he had the proof he’d sought, and once he’d explained all that transpired these past two days to his father, the earl would have to beg off the marriage, as promised. To the devil with the good dealings between the two families.

  He mounted Mercury and let the horse have his head, knowing he’d make his way back to the manor eventually. His thoughts churned too madly to pay attention to anything more than his wrath.

  How ironic, he’d spent the whole of yesterday comparing the peasant Izzy with his betrothed and finding his betrothed wanting, and they were one and the same. Except Isabelle Beaumont was still wanting, now that he knew the truth. An aristocratic maiden did not sneak off in disguise to enjoy the revelries of the lower classes, nor allow herself to be seduced by a stranger, nor quaff ale. And while he recognized the double-standard, since he had done as much himself, it did not ease his anger, for the rules were different where men and women were concerned. A noblewoman didn’t don breeches to go riding, for Christ’s sake, no matter that he’d found it arousing when Izzy was still a mystery maiden. And a soon-to-be viscountess under no circumstances allowed any man but her betrothed to lay her down on a blanket by a river. It was no matter he was her betrothed, for she hadn’t known it.

  Sudden suspicion snaked through him. Perhaps it was far too great a coincidence that the woman he’d “accidentally” met on his way to Padstow was in fact his betrothed. What if Izzy did know his identity? What if she planned to seduce him, to force their marriage no matter what he discovered about her?

  Either way, one thing was clear as daylight. He could never have her now. The thought struck him like a punch to the gut. For if he did take her to bed, surely she’d claim it was he who took the virginity she’d most likely given away long ago, and he’d be compelled to go through with the wedding. He’d not be tied to a cheating harlot for the rest of his days! Thank God her cousin had come searching for her.

  Anxious to confront his father, return to London and reclaim his bachelor status, he set his heels to Mercury’s side.

  And lamented he’d never know the heaven of release within Isabelle Beaumont’s magnificent body.

  ***

  Belinda didn’t speak until they were back at the house, in Izzy’s chamber. As soon as the door closed, Belinda whirled on her.

  “You lied to me! You blatantly lied! How could you?”

  Izzy squeezed her eyes shut. There had to be some way to make Belinda see, to express how far she’d go to have the life with Paul th
at he’d promised. She sat on her bed and stared at her cousin, praying she could make her understand.

  “I hate lying to you, Bel, but I had no choice! I feared you’d go to my father if you knew what I planned.”

  “No other choice? You had no other choice than to offer yourself to the first man you could find and let him tumble you in the grass?”

  Izzy cringed at her crude choice of language, but of course that’s how Belinda saw it. That’s exactly what Izzy had been doing with Julian when Belinda found them.

  But Belinda was so wrong. He wasn’t just any man. He was Julian. Kind, sensitive, exciting, tempting, handsome Julian. Nay, he was not just any man.

  “Did you give your virginity to that man? Were you with him yesterday as well? What will you tell your father?” The questions were fired so quickly, Izzy didn’t know which to answer first.

  “Bel, I can’t give Paul up. I love him. I know you don’t understand because you’ve never been in love, but I will do anything to make a life with him.” She raised her hand to stop Belinda’s protest. “I cannot change the way I feel. I’m sorry. I know I’ve disappointed you.” Tears burned in her eyes. It devastated her to think Belinda now thought less of her.

  Belinda sighed deeply and sat beside Izzy on the bed, stroking her hair. “I know you love Paul. I know you hate the idea of marriage to a stranger. But some things just aren’t done. And giving your virtue to a random stranger is one of those things.”

  “But what else am I to do?” Izzy heard the break in her own voice and hated that proof of her weakness.

  Belinda pressed her forehead to Izzy’s, an act of both solidarity and love. “We are only women, living at the whim of men. You and I are lucky to have been granted such freedom by your father thus far, more freedom than most women experience in a lifetime. But your father needs you to do this for him now, Izzy. How can you be so selfish and not think of him, after all he has done for you?”

  Now Izzy did cry, tears pouring unimpeded down her cheeks. “I don’t wish to be selfish, Bel,” she whispered on a broken sob. “But the thought of giving Paul up hurts me so. How could Papa ask this of me, when he knows how much I love Paul? ‘Tis as if my feelings matter naught to him at all. Do you know he threatened to disown me if I refused to agree to the wedding?” She remembered the pain his words had invoked, and her voice dropped to a whisper “After he’d taken the switch to me.”