Sophie Barnes
Page 27
“You did the right thing,” Mr. Roberts said, taking Isabella’s hand and bowing over it to show his regard. He might have had his ulterior motives for wishing to marry her, but Isabella had had hers too—theirs had not been a love match but one from which both parties stood to gain, and however much Anthony had disliked Mr. Roberts’s intentions toward her, he’d proven himself a gentleman in the end.
Thanking him, Anthony led Isabella outside to join her parents, who stood waiting for them.
“Congratulations,” Lady Margaret crooned, embracing her daughter while Mr. Chilcott shook Anthony’s hand. “And welcome to the family, Your Grace,” she added, releasing Isabella, whose face was beaming with unabashed joy.
“I should say the same to you,” Anthony grinned. For the first time since his father’s death, everything in his life felt good and right. Now, if he could only get Isabella off to the altar as quickly as possible, he’d be most content. Of course, there was also his mother to consider. He would have to send word to her immediately, and once she heard the news, a quick marriage by special license would be out of the question.
Not that he minded too much—she deserved the joy of helping Isabella arrange all of those little details that women were so fond of. The only problem this presented was that he’d probably have to wait a couple of months before taking his lovely bride to his bed. He groaned. Somehow, he’d have to find a solution to this unless he wished to subject himself to a constant state of discomfort. Needless to say, he did not. Of course, she’d snuck out of her home before on the night of the ball, so perhaps . . . ?
He escorted them all back to the Chilcott residence, but as soon as Isabella’s mother and father had alit from the carriage, he waited a moment before helping Isabella down, affording them a bit of privacy, since her parents had now almost reached the front door. With her hand tucked snuggly against the crook of his elbow, he leaned close to her as he whispered, “Any chance I might convince you to have another midnight escapade?”
Her head turned sharply toward his, and though her eyes were initially filled with surprise, they quickly started to sparkle with mischief. “Why, Your Grace, I do believe you’re hoping to seduce me.” There was a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, suggesting that she was struggling to keep a straight face.
“Meet me at the garden gate tonight at eleven?” he pressed, determined to come to an agreement before they arrived at the front door, where her parents stood smiling and waiting for them to join them.
“I’ll be there,” she promised just as a lovely pink hue flared in her cheeks. And then their moment of privacy was gone and they were being ushered inside for tea while Lady Margaret prattled on about how happy she was for her daughter and how they must sit down together with Anthony’s mother and discuss the wedding gown, the flowers and whatever else would be required to make the big day perfect. Anthony, on the other hand, said nothing, his thoughts straying to the promise of what that night would bring.
With a thick, woolen shawl draped about her shoulders, Isabella quietly opened her bedroom window at precisely five minutes before eleven and climbed out, careful not to wake Jamie, who’d fallen peacefully asleep an hour earlier.
Easing herself down from the ledge, Isabella closed the window, jamming a wad of fabric between the two frames to hold them in place while she was away. She then walked brusquely around to the front of the house and down the garden path to where Anthony stood waiting. “My horse is this way,” he whispered as he placed his arm about her shoulders and hurried her along. “I thought it best to leave him tethered a short distance from here so his whinnying wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Isabella said beneath the strong weight of his arm. Heat coursed through her, and for the first time that day, she considered what she was actually getting herself into by agreeing to meet him like this. Her heart’s pace quickened with anticipation, for there was no question about it—Anthony would not wish to get her alone like this for a mere chat.
“Where are we going?” she asked as soon as they’d located his horse and were riding along the dirt road, increasing the distance between themselves and Moxley.
“Why, to Kingsborough Hall, of course,” he said with distinct amusement in his voice as he urged the horse onward.
Good Lord!
“But that’s . . . that’s . . .”
“Outrageous?” he offered, his voice still ringing with mirth.
“Well, yes,” she said. She attempted to look back over her shoulder at him, but her position made that impossible. “What if someone sees me? The last thing I wish is to incite more gossip.”
“We’ll just have to be extra careful,” he said as he angled his head to place a kiss against her neck, which in turn made her skin sizzle. “And besides, my mother is out of town, and I have sent all the servants to bed.”
Isabella actually gulped. The consequence of her actions had suddenly become very real, and for a fleeting second she considered asking him to turn the horse about and take her home.
But then she recalled their time together in the barn—how sensual it had been and how utterly incredible. She loved this man and he loved her; they would be married soon, though probably not soon enough. Did she really wish to wait until her wedding night to be with him? The answer rang loud and clear inside her head, and she shook off whatever misgivings remained. In another month or two (depending most likely on how good she would be at convincing their respective mothers to hasten things along) he would be her husband, but for tonight, he would be Anthony, the Duke of Kingsborough—her lover.
It felt both right and wicked all at the same time, sending shivers scurrying down her spine. But then she recalled the book she’d found in his library, and whatever excitement she felt was replaced by a sudden nervousness. He probably had vast amounts of experience in this area, whereas she . . . dear God, she knew nothing on the matter.
What if she did something wrong? Something that might displease him or, worse, hurt him? Heaven help her if he suddenly decided that they did not suit after all, due to her lack of expertise in the bedroom. Whatever would she do then? It would be too late and . . . and . . . worst of all, he would see her in a state of complete undress.
Well, she might as well call off the wedding now, because she was only too aware of what she looked like beneath the gentle folds of her gown. She wasn’t fashionably thin, her thighs had too much meat on them, and her breasts were larger than what was considered proper. God help her!
She was so caught up in her frantic imaginings that she barely paid attention to her surroundings until she’d been lifted off his horse, ushered inside Kingsborough Hall through a back entryway and whisked upstairs to his bedroom. Not until the door closed behind her and the lock clicked into place did it dawn on her where she was, and by then, she was in full panic.
She felt his hands upon her shoulders in the next instant and she flinched, stepping away from him as her gaze wandered the room in search of a chair. If she could only sit down a moment, she was sure she’d feel better.
“Is something wrong?” he asked with a hint of concern.
“Oh . . . er . . . no, not at all.” There! In one corner of the room was a small seating arrangement—two chairs with a table between them. Isabella hurried toward it, feeling in no small part like a complete imbecile as she hastily seated herself in one of them. She then looked at Anthony, who was still standing exactly where she’d left him, regarding her with a bit of a quizzical expression. “I’m just ah . . . er . . . oh, bother!”
One elegant eyebrow lifted in response. “You don’t seem quite yourself. Would you rather go home?”
“No!”
The other eyebrow shot up as well before he recovered from her unexpected outburst, whereupon it relaxed back into its usual position. With slow, careful steps, Anthony crossed the floor to where she sat. He gestured toward the empty seat, and when she nodded her approval, he lowered himself into it. He watched he
r for a moment before saying, “Something is making you uneasy, Bella. Would you like to tell me what it is so I can help you relax?”
She shook her head. It would be impossible for her to confide the source of her fears in him—or so she thought until she felt his hand upon hers and looked up into his eyes, finding nothing but loving reassurance there. With a deep breath she told him of her worries while he, in turn, sat patiently and listened.
He didn’t frown or smile or make any other attempt to judge her, but when she was finished, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed each of her fingertips before saying, “First of all, you must never allow yourself to think that I find your figure displeasing, for I love your lush curves and the softness that your breasts and thighs have to offer. Your body arouses me to no end, Bella, and if you don’t believe me, then allow me to show you.”
And before Isabella could fathom what he was about, he lowered her hand against his groin. He was hard there beneath the fabric of his trousers, and though her heart was beating wildly in her chest and her mouth had long since gone dry, she found herself unable to pull away. There was something fascinating and empowering about this effect she had on him.
“Second of all,” he continued, his gaze locked with hers as he moved her hand over him, “there is nothing you can do to cause me displeasure, nor anything that would ever cause me to think less of you. Just do what feels right, try whatever piques your curiosity . . . experiment in any way you please. This is our playroom, Bella, and as long as we are alone here, there will be no boundaries between us.”
His words of reassurance eased away her troubled thoughts, and as he lowered his mouth over hers, she did not pull away but welcomed his kiss instead.
Feeling the hot, moist pressure of his tongue as it traced its way along the seam of her lips, she opened her mouth to allow him entry. A low, throaty groan escaped him in response to her acceptance and she found herself leaning toward him, trying to get closer just as his arms came around her waist, pulling her from her seat and onto his lap.
Not for a second did he disengage his mouth, his tongue roving over and under hers as he pulled her against him. She pressed herself closer, flattening her chest against his and delighting in the wave of heat this simple act evoked. He abandoned her mouth to trail hot kisses along her jawline and down her neck. “Forget your inhibitions,” he murmured as he ran his hand up along her side, but then he stopped his progress (annoying man) and said, “Open your eyes and look at me.”
On a deep, steadying breath she complied and was instantly stunned by the ravenous look in his eyes. His lips were slightly parted and his breathing was deep and labored. He didn’t say anything further as he gently lifted her until she was almost standing, then he raised her skirts until they were bunched around her thighs and turned her so that when he pulled her back down she found herself sitting astride his lap. “That’s much better,” he muttered with a wolfish grin as he placed his hands against her bottom and scooted her closer until she felt herself pressed against his hardness. “Now move, touch me, let yourself go.”
Unsure of herself, Isabella hesitantly raised her hands against his chest. Remaining perfectly still, he watched as she ran her hands over him. She knew he wouldn’t mind her touch, and yet something inside her—some stupid, ingrained reservation—stopped her from acting on the impulse she felt to undress him.
She bit her lower lip instead and closed her eyes to draw a deep breath. His lips were on her again, this time lower, against the swell of her breasts, his tongue tracing a trail of embers along the edge of her gown, and when he gently pinched that tender flesh with his teeth, a flood of sensation darted straight between her thighs, and she gasped in response.
“If I can do it, so can you,” he murmured as his fingers went to work on the back of her gown. It didn’t take long for him to loosen it enough to pull it down, freeing her breasts to his reverent gaze.
She heard him suck in a breath, and in the next instant she felt hot air teasing her perky peaks, dizzying her mind against the onslaught of pulsing energy that strummed through her, pushing her to finally do what she so desperately longed to.
Tugging at his shirt, she freed it from his breeches and ran her hands beneath. With a groan of pleasure he settled his mouth against one breast and began to suckle. She kissed his neck, nibbling carefully while her hands continued to explore. But it wasn’t enough—she wanted more—needed to calm this growing desire that pooled at her core, so she did what instinct told her to do and ground herself against him.
“Bloody hell,” he gasped, releasing her breast and squeezing his eyes shut.
For a moment she almost paused, fearful that she might have done something he did not like, but then his eyes opened and she recognized the hunger that was there, and with her gaze locked on him, she rotated her hips again. It felt good—really good.
“That’s it,” he said on a breath of air as a sigh escaped her lips. “I knew you had it in you.”
Encouraged by his words and aroused to the point where whatever inhibitions she’d had had been tossed right out the proverbial window, she pulled her skirts up higher and placed her hand between them. God, she felt wicked, but the fire in his eyes told her that he more than approved of this newfound, wanton behavior.
Gazing at him from beneath her lashes as she stroked them both with her fingers, she found herself saying, “You asked me once if I ever touch myself here, and I said no. I didn’t lie to you, but since then, I must admit I’ve done it . . . often.”
His breath grew ragged when he lowered his gaze to watch the progress of her movement, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he also grew harder. “And what do you think about as you give yourself pleasure?” His voice was rough as he posed the question.
Bringing her free hand to his cheek, she brushed her fingertips lightly against him and whispered, “You—always you.”
With a groan he swept her into his arms and carried her toward the bed, settling her gently on the edge. He didn’t speak as he pulled her arms from the sleeves of her gown and lowered the garment to her waist. Getting up, she allowed it to fall at her feet. Her chemise was next, and Anthony didn’t hesitate a second to whisk it over her head and toss it aside. Stepping back, his eyes trailed over her, and the look of appreciation she saw there made her feel silly for ever worrying that he might not approve. It was blatantly obvious that he did, his eyes practically sparkling with glee.
“I believe it is your turn to undress, Your Grace,” she said, offering him a cheeky smile as she stepped toward him. “And I would be more than happy to assist.”
He did not move as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders, nor did he flinch as her fingers pulled away his cravat and worked the buttons of his shirt. But when she traced the waistline of his breeches, she heard him suck in a breath and she raised her gaze to meet his in question.
“Allow me to remove my boots before you continue,” he said as he went to work on the task—tugging on the stubborn footwear until they were tossed in quick succession across the floor, where they landed with a thump.
Straightening himself, he allowed her to continue where she’d left off. A surge of excitement coursed through her at the prospect of what she was about to do. This man would soon be her husband, and she had every intention of getting to know his body as well as she knew her own.
No sooner had she unfastened the last button holding his breeches in place than that hard length of him sprang free. Curious, she hesitantly curled her fingers around the smooth surface and slowly ran her thumb back and forth, cautiously eyeing him to ensure that he didn’t mind her taking such liberties.
“Oh my God,” Anthony muttered. The sensation of her fingers upon him like this was divine—she was divine. Heaven help him, but he’d never experienced anything close to this before. No other woman could possibly measure up. In his mind there was only Bella. He took a steadying breath as he looked at her, the expression upon her face so full of passion and focus.
Capturing her mouth in a hot and fervent kiss, he ran a hand over her hip, across her bottom and down to the soft flesh of her womanhood. “Yes,” she gasped as she parted her legs to grant him further access.
Trailing a finger along her center, he abandoned her mouth in favor of her ear, nibbling gently on the lobe as she trembled against him. “You’re so wet, Bella, so ready and . . .” He dipped a finger inside her. “So tight.”
“I suppose I want you quite badly,” she murmured.
“There can be no doubt about that, and while I want you just as badly, I’d also like to taste you.”
“What?” she squeaked, eyes wide as she tried to pull away.
He refused to let her go, leading her to the bed instead. “Trust me, love, you’ll enjoy this more than you can possibly imagine.” Once he’d settled her against the plush pillows, Anthony proceeded to kiss his way along her outstretched body, chasing away the tension that had filled her when he’d told her what he had in mind. It took a while for her to relax, but he enjoyed every moment, relishing the opportunity he’d been given to simply adore each and every part of her. When he eventually flicked his tongue against her place of desire, she gasped and groaned with such pleasure that he almost found himself undone.
He wanted her pleasure as much as, if not more than, he wanted his own, and the more he laved her, the closer he sensed her coming to her climax. Pulling back, he couldn’t help but smile at the dazed look upon her face as he climbed up between her legs. “This is bound to hurt a little,” he warned.