Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Drake reached down and rescued the gift, handing it to Emmaline. “I must admit to some curiosity as to what your brother gifted us.”

  “Me, too,” she said, almost hesitant to open the package. With Sebastian one could never be sure. She unwrapped the gift and opened the top of the box to reveal—

  A burst of laughter escaped Emmaline.

  *

  Drake shook his head in consternation. A bonnet? It seemed a peculiar gift choice.

  At that moment, however, he did not want to think of Mallen. Or his rather odd gift habits. Through hooded lids, he studied Emmaline and thoughts of finally making love to her made him harden in anticipation. Playing with the ribbons of her new gift, she seemed impervious to the tension in his tightly coiled body. He reached over and tugged her unceremoniously onto his lap.

  A squeak squeezed past her lips.

  He tangled his fingers behind her nape, angling her head. “I have been longing to do this all day,” he whispered and then brought her mouth to his. It wasn’t a chaste meeting of lips. This was a kiss without reservations. It was hot. Demanding. Seeking.

  Emmaline twined her arms about his neck and tilted her head back to deepen the kiss. She opened her mouth to his and their tongues collided in a violent exchange. Drake’s hands roamed a path over her body, exploring each angle, each curve that had fascinated him since he’d seen her save an old beggar woman in the streets. Aching for more, he held her fast so her center was pressed against his hard shaft.

  Emmaline pulled back a little, her eyes clouded with passion. “I want to touch you like you touched me.”

  Drake groaned, and kissed her again. He shifted her so she was seated astride one of his hard thighs. The fine silk of her ivory gown, rucked up about her legs, leant her an air of wantonness that thrilled him to the core. Just the sight of her made his shaft ache.

  He ran his hands over her creamy white thighs. “You are so soft.” His fingers trailed higher and higher until he found her center drenched with desire. She was hotter than the sun on a summer day.

  A hiss escaped Emmaline’s teeth and of their own volition, her hips began undulating.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, arching into him. Her moan became a soft, pleading scream. Her head fell backwards. “Drake,” she begged.

  “That’s it,” he whispered, his fingers continued to work her.

  She cried out in protest when he eased his fingers out of her hot warmth. He set about undoing the fastidious row of pearl buttons along the back of her dress. He lowered the bodice, exposing her to his eyes. Drake closed a hand over a small round breast, fondling it, until she sagged against him. “Perfect,” he murmured hoarsely into her mouth. He trailed a finger across a turgid red nipple, and then pressed his lips to the bud.

  A small scream escaped Emmaline and she threw her head back, sending her chocolate wave cascading around them like a silken curtain. He continued suckling the sensitive tip of her breast until she was whimpering with incoherent desire.

  “Please,” she panted.

  Drake reached down and released himself from his breeches, at last allowing his aching cock the freedom it craved.

  Emmaline’s unrestrained movements ground to a halt at the sight of his erection. She froze. “You’re huge,” she said breathless with passion.

  A pained, humorless laugh escaped him. He guided her hand to his shaft and encouraged her to explore the swollen length. A groan escaped him, as she wrapped her delicate fingers about him and moved them up and down.

  “It feels like satin,” she said.

  Drake’s eyes closed when her emboldened fingers worked him. He couldn’t drum up one rationale thought. A guttural groan emerged low in his throat, escaping from some primitive part deep inside him.

  As though enflamed by his desire, she moved up and down on his oaken thigh with a frenzy. Her body stiffened, her finger froze on his shaft, and she was coming in waves upon his thigh. Her keening cry rent the quiet of the carriage as she collapsed atop him, fingers still curled tightly about his length.

  Drake placed a kiss at her temple, where a faint sheen of perspiration clung to her.

  Emmaline glanced up, her eyes clouded with desire. “I want to pleasure you,” she said huskily. “Show me.” It wasn’t a question.

  Drake’s eyes closed. He wanted to wait. Wanted to wait for the moment she was in his bed, under him, and he was thrusting between her sweet thighs.

  “Like this,” he instructed hoarsely and showed her the rhythm.

  Emmaline watched with wide-eyed fascination as he pumped his hips into her hand, studying the pearly white fluid that leaked from the tip of his shaft.

  She squeezed him in her hands, increasing the rhythm, and he sucked in air through his teeth, on a sharp whistle. “God, Emmaline. I’m going to come.”

  And then he stiffened, and was coming, a stream of milk white seed poured from him, and Emmaline watched through round eyes.

  Replete from his exertions and the power of his orgasm, Drake sunk against the cushions and held Emmaline in his arms. He continued to hold her long after she’d fallen asleep just studying her serene, heart-shaped face until his eyes grew heavy. A yawn escaped him. He’d close his eyes. Just for a short while.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The carriage wheels ground to a jarring halt. Drake’s eyes flew open. He made a move to dash his hand across his face and clear the haze of slumber but his hand was caught and he remembered…

  His head dropped back slowly into the dark leather squabs of the interior of his carriage and he closed his eyes again on a smile. He must look like a lovelorn pup. Mayhap he was.

  They’d arrived at their new home. Home. He smiled.

  Drake rearranged Emmaline’s gown. He tugged the bodice back into place and made quick work of the intricate row of buttons. He dropped her skirts and through it all, his sated wife continued to sleep.

  Taking care not to jostle her, Drake shoved the curtain apart, and peered at his townhouse. At the time he’d purchased it, he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine the simple things that so many gentlemen took for granted—a wife, a home, children—would ever be his. He believed loneliness was to be the penance required of him for the things he’d done in battle.

  Drake let the black fabric fall back in place and shifted his attention to Emmaline. Apparently the gods had, if not forgiven him, granted him this undeserved happiness. They’d sent him down an angel.

  A harsh, snorting sound slipped from her slack lips.

  He smiled. Apparently, an angel who snored.

  Her thick eyelashes fluttered open and closed as she negotiated reality with dream state. There was a sleepy moment of joyful recognition, when her gaze found his and she reached her arms high above her head, arching her back in a contented stretch. She yawned loudly, before closing her eyes, and burrowing into his side.

  Then she seemed to realize the carriage had ceased its swaying, rhythmic motion. “We’re here, love,” he confirmed.

  Like a bolt of lightening had struck, Emmaline’s body jolted forward and she promptly tumbled to the floor. “I’m a mess,” she cried, in a sweetly endearing hoarse morning voice. She glanced down at her rumpled gown and groaned. “It will take just one glance for the staff to know exactly what we’ve been doing in the carriage.”

  He didn’t debate the merit of that point, and instead reached out a hand to assist her up. She dropped her head into her hands and shook it back and forth, groaning in embarrassment. “I want to stay here all day, buried away in this carriage,” she moaned. “I can’t meet the staff like this. I look, like, like…”

  Drake waited for her to finish her sentence, lips twitching. “Like?”

  Emmaline somehow managed to squish his booted foot beneath her slipper. “You are insufferable.”

  “And you are quite a shrew in the morning, love.”

  “I am not…” At his pointed smile, she snapped her mouth shut.

  He took pity on her frayed state,
and quickly helped her up from the floor. He set to work righting her hair, adjusting her gown, and briefly shaking out what wrinkles he could. “There, you’re all properly righted. However,” he gave her a lingering kiss, “I far preferred you all rumpled and thoroughly loved.”

  Emmaline accepted his kiss. “You are far too familiar with a lady’s ablutions,” she charged prettily.

  Beneath the light teasing tone, there was a rebuke buried in that quip. The hurt reached Emmaline’s wide chocolate brown eyes, spearing him in the heart. He damned himself to perdition.

  There was a knock on the carriage door. “We’ve arrived, my lord,” the servant stated from the other side.

  Drake ignored him. He took Emmaline’s chin between his hands, and urged her to meet his eyes. “I will not lie to you. There were many, many other women.”

  Emmaline winced.

  He raised her knuckles to his lips, caressing them deliberately and delicately with his lips. “From the moment you boldly marched up to me in the theatre, there has never been another woman for me. And there will never be. I pledge this to you.”

  Her lips pursed in a set line. “There most certainly will not be.”

  Drake laughed and dropped another kiss on her lips.

  A second rap sounded on the carriage door. “My lord, we’ve—”

  “Damn it, I heard you.”

  Emmaline swatted at his fingers. “Don’t be so surly. What His Lordship meant to say was, thank you, he heard you,” she addressed the poor servant outside the carriage.

  “No it wasn’t. I meant exactly what I said,” Drake corrected for the servant’s benefit.

  She rolled her eyes and pulled back the curtains. The servant shuffled back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  Emmaline dropped the curtain and leveled Drake with a reproachful look. “Do behave.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior, love,” he whispered, loving the pink blush that stained her cheeks.

  He rapped once on the roof of the carriage and the footman promptly opened the door. The young man kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

  Drake climbed out of the carriage and held a hand up. Emmaline placed her fingers in his and allowed him to help her down. They proceeded to walk up the steps of their new home.

  The staff stood in a small, neat row in the foyer. The housekeeper and butler rushed forward.

  “My lord, my lady, welcome. I am Mrs. Brown.” The round housekeeper with plump, merry cheeks dropped a small curtsy. “It is an honor, my lady.”

  A warm smile wreathed Emmaline’s face, and the housekeeper fairly preened. Yes, Emmaline had that effect on most people. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown. It is so nice to meet you.”

  The butler cleared his throat and Emmaline directed her attention to the small man. Nearly an inch shorter than Emmaline, he comported himself with stiff, proper decorum. “If we might introduce you to the rest of the staff,” he said, his tone laced with disapproval of Mrs. Brown’s unfiltered emotions.

  Mrs. Brown gave him a pert look, and made a disapproving sound. “Grumpy ole’ thing,” she said to Emmaline in a loud whisper that carried around the foyer.

  Emmaline laughed.

  Mrs. Brown beamed and turned approvingly to Drake. “I like her, my lord.”

  Drake winked. “Which is a good thing, Mrs. Brown, as I’ve no intention of returning her.”

  Mr. Smith cleared his throat yet again. “Mrs. Brown.”

  Mrs. Brown’s response was to give the man another disapproving glance. “I heard you, I heard you. No need to be such a Napoleon.”

  At last, Mr. Smith was ruffled. He propped his hands upon his hips and took a step towards the taller Mrs. Brown. “How dare you, you impertinent bit of baggage. The only reason the Captain agreed to hire you was because—”

  Drake gave a sharp clap. “That is quite enough.”

  Mr. Smith flushed. “My apologies, Cap’n,” he muttered, dropping his head.

  Drake leaned close to his wife and whispered for her ears alone. “The staff is largely made up of soldiers and their families. I hope it does not offend you, my lady.” A sudden uncertainty plagued Drake. He wanted Emmaline to be pleased and knew the servants he’d assembled were a good deal less than conventional.

  Emmaline glanced down the line at their rather unconventional staff, her expression inscrutable. Her eyes lingered on the stiff, erect form of Mr. Smith, a military man, and then the gregarious Mrs. Brown, who’d followed the drum. She finally looked at Drake. “I think it is brilliant, husband.”

  He released a breath.

  “Come, my lady, I’m sure you are ready to go above stairs now,” Mrs. Brown interrupted.

  “You ain’t to interrupt. It just ain’t done.” Mr. Smith couldn’t contain himself. His deeply lined cheeks went ruddy at his second uncharacteristic loss of control.

  The housekeeper favored him with a wink and a cheeky smile. She took Emmaline by the arm. “Come on, luvvie. Let us get you ready for the captain.”

  Ten different shades of red colored Emmaline’s cheeks as she looked over her shoulder at Drake, as if she were silently pleading with him to rescue her.

  He winked.

  *

  Emmaline didn’t have any choice but to be steered up the staircase, to her chambers. When they entered, Emmaline found her maid. Grace stood removing articles of clothing from Emmaline’s trunks.

  Grace smiled. “My lady,” she greeted with a curtsy.

  “Grace,” she returned and then her eyes fell to the bed behind Grace, where an elaborate white silk peignoir had been laid out. Her eyes traveled over the delicate fabric adorned with a pearl-encrusted bodice and trimmed with intermittent diamonds. It was stunning.

  Mrs. Brown shared a look with Grace. “It will be a fine night for His Lordship. And for my lady, I venture,” Mrs. Brown said in a hushed whisper.

  Grace laughed, even as Emmaline’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. Her maid rushed forward. “Come, come, let me help ready you!”

  Mrs. Brown made an approving sound. “If you have any need of me, just ring.” With that, she left.

  Emmaline allowed Grace to assist her out of her wedding gown and into the silk piece. The smooth silk fluttered over her like the velvety petals of a rosebud, and she shivered as cool fabric met her naked skin. Faintly trembling hands ran along the sides of her nightgown.

  She felt…

  …naked.

  “You are stunning, my lady,” Grace murmured. She removed the pins from Emmaline’s hair, and began brushing the long brown locks until they fell freely, loosely about her waist.

  Emmaline stared at her reflection in the bevel mirror. For nearly the first time in her life she felt… beautiful.

  “Is there anything else you require, my lady?”

  Emmaline started. “No, no thank you, Grace. That will be all.”

  Grace dipped a curtsy and slipped quietly from the room.

  Emmaline continued to stare at the reflection of the silk clad woman in the mirror, hardly daring to believe it was her own visage. She cocked her head, touching a finger to her lips. Would he find her beautiful? A sharp rap on the door interrupted her musings. Emmaline jumped. She pressed a hand to her chest to try and still the rapid-fire beat of her heart.

  “Come,” she called, her voice faltering.

  Drake filled the open-doorway and a wave of nervousness coursed through her. She made to wipe her damp palms along the sides of her nightgown, but remembered how exquisite the garment was and stopped. “Hullo,” she said, breaking the awkward silence.

  Drake leaned against the doorjamb and gave her a reverent smile. “You are stunning.”

  Her mouth went dry, words escaped her. Why couldn’t she be seductive and sophisticated, capable of a perfectly naughty smile?

  He leveled himself away from the entryway and shoved the door closed with the heel of his boot. “Come, love, you aren’t shy around me of a sudden?”

  “No,” she said a touch to
o quickly. Liar. He makes you feel the same way you did when you had your Come Out at Almack’s…and look what a disaster that had proven to be. She took a breath. Painful awkwardness heightened Emmaline’s sense of inadequacy. She opened her mouth to fill the void that had engulfed the both of them. “The wedding was lovely. And the flowers from the gardens looked so lovely in the church. We were so fortunate to have sun. The day was just…”

  Drake folded his arms across his chest. “Lovely?”

  Her mouth snapped shut as he sauntered over to her. His chest rose and fell in a steady, calming cadence. The faint scent of sandalwood clung to his skin.

  Silence reigned.

  And Emmaline decided she’d had enough of it. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  Drake’s arms fell to his side and his mouth gaped open. Emboldened by his reaction, she took a deep breath, twined her arms about his neck, and pushed up on her tiptoes. “What no answer? Then I suppose I shall just have to kiss you,” she breathed against his lips, and then kissed him.

  Drake groaned. His hands went to her waist and began roving a course over her silk peignoir, caressing her through the silk garment.

  Wordlessly, he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. He took great care as he lowered her gently down onto the soft mattress and then suddenly, he sat back on his haunches. Rolling his shoulders back, he hastily removed his jacket, and threw it haphazardly to the floor. His expertly tied cravat and white lawn shirt followed.

  Drake made quick work of his boots and breeches. In moments, he sat naked before her.

  Emmaline’s maidenly reservations were replaced with bold curiosity and a woman’s desire. The well-muscled wall of his chest was faintly sprinkled with golden curls. Curious to see if the hair was as soft as it looked, she reached out and caressed him.

  Like silk.

  His breath caught at her touch.

  Emmaline’s gaze dropped lower. She trailed the tip of her finger along his firm, abdominal muscles, and she stiffened. “Oh my God,” she whispered. Thick, jagged scars crisscrossed the lower right side of Drake’s stomach. A similar mark marred the upper portion of his shoulder and disappeared somewhere behind his back.