Virtue and Vice

by Kimberly Brody

  His arms slipped around her as his mouth took possession of hers roughly. One hand burrowed into her hair, pulling at the neat plaits she’d worked so hard to achieve. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, and she drank in the taste of him, the feel of him…so different from Ram. And not in a good way!

  She tore away, turning her back to regain her composure, placing the back of her hand against her mouth. How could it feel so wrong to kiss a man she’d loved for so long? She cast around, frantic for an answer.

  Paul’s arms came around her from behind, pulling her back against his solid chest. “How could that be wrong?” He nuzzled her ear, his voice husky with need.

  Not knowing how to answer without giving offense, relief swept her at the sound of a cough that was loud enough to interrupt them. That is, until she looked up into Ram’s blazing eyes. His gaze raked her from head to toe, narrowed on her mussed hair, then he turned calmly to the man who had wisely taken a step back from her.

  “Will you excuse us, Huntley?”

  One moment Paul was there, behind her, and in the next moment he was gone without a single word, leaving her to face her furious husband alone.

  Chapter 21

  Ram took deep, calming breaths, fighting the urge to strike his erstwhile wife. He’d never in his life beaten a woman, but then again, he’d never before been so angry at a woman either. It would seem he’d gotten the exact type of woman he’d always sought to avoid. A woman very much like his mother, and he’d done it to himself. How ironic.

  “Is this to be our future then, Isabelle?” he asked quietly. “Will I forever enter a room, a darkened corner, a secluded garden, to find you making love to Huntley? And when you tire of him, will it be some other young buck who strikes your fancy?”

  She cried out. “It’s not like that Ram. I- I didn’t ask for what he did.”

  He snorted. “All last evening and this morning you’ve cried over that man incessantly, claiming an intent to gain an annulment so you can be with him, and I find you, less than two hours since we shared a bed, and for the second time in a matter of days, in his arms- and you expect me to believe you didn’t crave his attentions?”

  He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Gather your belongings, we’re going back to the house, and tomorrow we return to Cornwall.”

  “You said we could remain at court this evening.” Anguish filled her voice.

  He flinched. Even now, her concern for a missed opportunity to see the King overrode any worries she might have about the tenuous state of their relationship. “And so we will. But I won’t leave you to your own devices here all day. We’ll return to the house and come back together in the evening.”

  Relief filled her eyes, and it gutted him.

  He walked behind her, simmering with anger and hurt, as they navigated their way out of the privy garden. He’d truly believed that last night and this morn they’d made a start on a new life. Apparently, he was a fool.

  The anger he could handle; he’d been angry before, especially with Izzy. But the hurt disturbed him to his very core. Because it could only mean one thing.

  How had he let himself care so deeply for this woman? He’d known what she was before he married her, but he’d gone through with the wedding anyway, in the vain hope she’d come to her senses and realize what a good match they made. And not only because her family connections would help his father, or because her father needed money and land. They had an almost unnatural attraction between them, a physical pull to one another, a shared sense of humor, and an ability to converse on any subject— all the good things he believed went into a strong marriage. And Lord God, for all of that, he’d allowed himself to love her. The fucking irony of it was the hardest to bear. It was precisely because of her sexual inexperience that she didn’t know how rare what they shared was and how lucky they were in their compatibility.

  Now he’d been sucked into a lopsided competition, one he could never hope to win. Izzy loved an idealized version of a man who didn’t exist and never had. When she discovered Huntley’s true character for herself, as she likely would someday, and decided she wanted to remain his wife, would it mean anything? Or would Ram only ever be her second choice?

  And what if she never discovered Huntley’s true nature? Could Ram remain in a sham of a marriage, despite his feelings for her? If Huntley were a different sort of man, Ram might consider granting the annulment she so desperately wanted, for he only wished for her happiness, especially in light of the harm he’d caused her. But Huntley would bring her nothing but misery, and Ram would not have a hand in creating such a life for her.

  He stared at her back as she walked before him. Her shoulders slouched, her head bowed downwards. Not like the Izzy he knew. She seemed defeated.

  He understood the feeling.

  ***

  Izzy bit her lip to hold back tears. She’d never meant for things to go so far with Paul. Not until she was no longer another man’s wife. It wasn’t right, and she’d hurt Ram with her actions. Regret sat like acid in her stomach.

  He didn’t speak during the carriage ride home. When they reached the cobbled entry way and came to a stop, he climbed out, then gave her his hand to help her down the steps. It was a perfunctory gesture, lacking any warmth.

  Dexter seemed delighted to find them, together at last, but she couldn’t bear to face the butler. Pleading an aching head, she scurried up to her bedchamber. Two more gowns had been delivered and awaited her in the wardrobe to be tried on. She couldn’t even gather the interest to look at them. Instead, after she’d undressed and pulled on a dressing gown, she flopped onto the bed, throwing her arm over her eyes.

  Moments later, she heard Ram moving within the adjoining chamber. Should she go to him? A knot had formed in the pit of her belly. Did he think less of her now than he’d done this morning? She ached to reassure him she was no wanton.

  She fixed her mussed hair, then went to the door separating them. Such a thin piece of English oak, yet in truth she and Ram were worlds apart. She wished with her whole heart it was not so.

  She rapped upon the door and opened it before he bid her entry. Ram sat on the edge of the bed wearing only his breeches, holding his head in his hands. Her heart lurched.

  He looked up at her approach. “What do you want?” His voice sounded defeated, not angry as she expected. Crossing the room in three quick strides, she stood before the bed, and then knelt on the floor so she could take his hands. He didn’t resist, but nor did he squeeze her fingers in response.

  “I’m so sorry, Ram. I never meant for any of that to happen.”

  “You never mean for anything to happen. It just does with you, Izzy. You’re a walking disaster. And now, because of a moment of utter madness, you’re my disaster.”

  For the first time when speaking of their marriage, regret tinged his voice. A knot of anguish settled in her stomach while panic churned it. She didn’t want him to regret marrying her. This would all be so much easier if he was the ogre she initially imagined when Papa first told her of his plans to marry her to a faceless roundhead. It would be easier if she’d been able to hold tight to her anger over their wedding night. If she hated him, she’d walk over him to get what she wanted and never even look back. Instead, she liked and respected him more each day. Nay, even worse, she cared about him, because each day she recognized in him more and more the man she’d known as Julian.

  She was so very confused. Ram wasn’t the man she loved, and yet she wanted nothing more than to climb into the haven of his arms to be comforted, despite Paul’s reappearance in her life. And Paul had not given her the slightest bit of comfort, when she’d need it more than anything. It made no sense at all!

  What if Belinda was right? What if Izzy didn’t love Paul anymore, at least not in a romantic way?

  She opened her mouth, but not knowing what to say, closed it again.

  After a few minutes of contemplation, she tried a different approach. “I don’t mean to be dif
ficult, or cause you grief. You seem to catch me at my worst moments.” She grinned ruefully, hoping he would see the humor of the situation, but he studied her with a serious mien, his grey eyes clouded.

  Obviously, it would take more than pretty words to convince him. Springing to her feet, she settled in his lap, looping her arms loosely about his neck. Her backside made contact with the hardness in his breeches that cried his desire for her, no matter what he might say or how angry he might be, but he didn’t put his arms around her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to make things better, Ram. Please, tell me how to do that!”

  He raked his fingers through his hair, but didn’t dislodge her from his lap. ”You claim to love another man. How can you come to me so easily, if you love Paul as deeply as you claim? Tell me, Izzy. Explain it so I might understand.”

  She had no answer, for she couldn’t even explain it to herself. All she knew was that she couldn’t bear to be the cause of Ram’s dissatisfaction and regret. She wanted to matter to him.

  He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he swept her into his arms and laid her face down on the bed, then urged her onto her hands and knees. “I’ll make this easier for you, Isabelle. Would you like that?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to protest the use of her full name, which never boded well, but his lips were warm on the nape of her neck. Words failed her. He could call her whatever he wanted if only he continued to do such wondrously wicked things to her body.

  He reached around her front, untied the sash of her dressing gown, then slid the garment over her shoulders and off. Though anticipation and the chill air of the room made her shiver, the scrap of silk slithered down her body with a rustle that fired her blood, chasing away the cold.

  She tried to roll over onto her back, to look him in the eyes and stroke him in return, but he stopped her with a hand at the base of her spine. His lips returned to her neck, his tongue sought out the sensitive skin behind her ears. She moaned.

  All the while, his hands massaged her back, fingers slipping to her sides, lightly stroking the swell of each breast. She wanted him to play with her breasts fully, not merely toy with them, so she arched up on her hands to allow him better access.

  He accepted the invitation without hesitation. He cupped a breast in each hand, his thumbs swirling around the sensitive skin that surrounded her nipples. She wanted to demand he touch her where she needed it, but instead a throaty moan escaped her. At the sound, his fingers latched on to her nipples, tugging and rolling them between his fingers. His mouth remained on the back of the neck, and he began to lick downwards. Hot flames of desire snaked through her, settling hot and moist between her legs.

  She tried rolling over again, but the weight of his body against hers held her immobile, and she whimpered, able to do naught but clutch the silken bed sheets in her fists.

  As his tongue journeyed down her spine, his hands followed a path downwards in the front, caressing the underside of her breasts, then slipping over her belly, coming to rest above the juncture of her thighs, where his fingertips just brushed the mound of curls, placing the slightest pressure. His hands went no lower.

  A frustrated sound escaped her lips. She wiggled her backside to convey that he should continue, and was rewarded with a husky chuckle that curled her toes.

  “You’re an impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

  Her response was lost when his tongue swept across the cleft of her backside, barely grazing her skin. She drew in a harsh breath at the sensation.

  His lips suddenly feathered against her ear. “Before I’m through with you I’m going to teach you to love the anticipation nearly as much as you love to be fucked.”

  She frowned at his choice of words, but thoughts failed her when his hands resumed their wandering. He slid them to her hips, lifting her backside even higher.

  She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life, exposed to him on her hands and knees. But all thought fled, like grains of sand blown by the wind, as his mouth resumed its wicked exploration. Once more he drew his hot tongue down the cleft of her posterior, but this time he went deeper and didn’t stop. His mouth continued to the juncture of her thighs, lapping at her as if she were a delicacy, tasting parts of her she’d never dreamed possible. Over and over again his tongue made its journey, from the small of her back, to the aching flesh between her legs, until she almost cried tears of need.

  Once more she tried to turn over, but he held her firmly in place.

  “Ram,” she panted, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m making this easy for you, love. Relax.”

  She felt him stand upright, heard the rustling sound as he removed his breeches. His hands returned to her hips, pulling her back until her knees rested at the edge of the bed. His erection, hard and hot, throbbed against her.

  “I don’t understand,” she uttered through the haze of passion engulfing her.

  The head of his shaft slid slickly through her swollen folds, pressing harder and harder against the sensitive bud hidden at the juncture with every pass, then probed the entrance to her body. “There’s no need to fight a battle with yourself over your desires.” He slid forward slowly, stretching her tight flesh in tiny increments.

  She quivered.

  “While I take you like this, you can fantasize to your heart’s content that Huntley is the man fucking you. You can pretend it’s his hands stroking you, his cock pulsing deep inside you.” He thrust once. “You were in his arms only an hour ago, yet now here you are in my bed. What you need is obvious.”

  “What! Ram, nay! That’s not what I want.” She tried to twist away.

  “Don’t deny it, Izzy and don’t lie to yourself.” His voice was suddenly flat, devoid of emotion.

  She tried to rise, but his hands at her hips held her immobile. Frustrated, she cried out. “But I don’t want-”

  She gasped, cut off mid-sentence by another strong thrust that seated him to the hilt inside her. The protest died on her lips at the overwhelming pleasure and she moaned, lost in the sensation of his thick length filling her so completely.

  His hands gripped her hips, pulling her back to meet every forward thrust. Within moments she took over the motion herself, grinding her backside hard against him each time he sheathed himself. She’d never experience anything so exquisite before.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God,” were the only words she could muster as he continued the assault on her senses, sending her flying higher and higher, until she knew she must either shatter or die of the pleasure.

  Her climax came upon her suddenly. Her muscles clenched hard around him as she shattered into a million pieces. Fire traveled outwards from her loins until she existed of nothing but flame. For one glorious moment, only the pure pleasure coursing through her filled her mind. She gasped, tearing at the coverlet in a frenzy.

  A hoarse gasp escaped through Ram’s teeth as he thrust against her, faster and harder, pressing himself deeper and deeper inside She felt the hot spurt as he spilled his seed. The scalding heat plunged her over the edge once more, and she rode the smaller climax that came on the heels of the larger one.

  When her mind finally cleared, she’d collapsed full length on the bed, limp with satiation and exhaustion. Ram lay atop her, bearing his weight on arms that rested by her shoulders.

  The memory of his bitter words and accusation destroyed the beauty of what they’d just shared. She stiffened beneath him, closing her eyes in defeat. Did he truly believe she could ever fantasize about Paul or any other man while Ram made love to her? How could he?

  ***

  Ram felt her body tense beneath his. He rolled off her to lie at her side, throwing his arm across his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath. He warred with the emotions within himself over what had just happened.

  Despite his intentions when he took her to bed, he’d just experienced some of the most incredible, most exciting lovemaking of his life, and the woman with whom he�
�d shared it had pretended he was another man. There was no other explanation for her wild response once he’d granted her permission to fantasize he was Huntley. He hadn’t heard the cry of his own name on her lips once.

  He swallowed hard. He had to let her go. Now he knew without a doubt he couldn’t spend his life with a woman who wanted someone else. It was far too painful and he deserved far better.

  He wouldn’t touch her again, would have to wait until he knew for sure she hadn’t quickened with his child. If she hadn’t, he would release her from their marriage. To give her up might devastate him, but to keep her would destroy him.

  Now that he’d made up his mind, it was time to begin withdrawing from her, before his emotions became more entangled than they already were. He’d send her back to Cornwall while he remained in London. He’d reclaim his old life, and soon, all would be back to normal. His father would just have to make do with the goodwill his actions during the interregnum had gained with King Charles.

  He removed his arm from his eyes and met Izzy’s angry gaze.

  “Don’t!” he warned.

  “How could you?” she demanded. She looked more like a flawless porcelain doll than a woman, her cheeks still flushed from her climax, her glorious hair tumbling about her shoulders in wild disarray.

  He grunted in reply.

  “How could you even suggest something so absurd and so insulting, Ram!”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Izzy.”

  “But I do! Surely you cannot possibly think-”

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  “Then you know nothing!”

  “Then that makes two of us!” he sat up. “We should get dressed for the evening, no? It is your last chance to be granted an audience by the King. You don’t want to keep your beloved monarch waiting.”

  She stuttered in reply, but he continued as he hauled himself off the bed. “I’ll dress and meet you in the foyer in, say, an hour?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he yanked his breeches back on, then went to his wardrobe, staring at the varied options before him. What should he wear for what was sure to be a long and miserable evening?