The Gentleman's Daughter

by Bianca M. Schwarz

  Allen winked and bowed. “I already am.” Then he grabbed Emily for a polka around the room.

  Still smiling at their antics, Isabella had a quick look at her surroundings as she moved farther into the library and toward the tea tray by the empty black marble fireplace. There were two fireplaces in the cavernous room, and both had splendid landscapes hanging above them. The room ran the entire depth of the building from the front bay window to the open windows into the garden, and the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in bookshelves. A long uncovered table big enough for one to lay down a large book and study it occupied the middle of the room, and by the back windows stood a huge desk and a wingback chair. Most of the other comfortable seating in the room was grouped around the back fireplace, obviously a spot much in use for informal gatherings.

  Emily, laughing and slightly out of breath from the wild gallop around the room, remembered herself as the hostess in her father’s house and urged Isabella to sit with her on the sofa. “Let me pour you a cup of tea, and we can talk bridesmaid dresses. Papa and Uncle Allen still have matters to discuss, so it might be best to just let them get to it.”

  Isabella lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “From what I witnessed yesterday, your papa and Mr. Strathem make quite the formidable team, so by all means.”

  Allen smiled his approval at Isabella and winked at Emily before he turned to Henry. “Would you like that report now? I know you were preoccupied last night.”

  Henry watched his daughter and the woman he loved settling in for a cozy chat, then led Allen to the two seats by the bay window at the front of the house. He poured his friend a brandy. “You said you found the girls? What exactly are we dealing with here?”

  Allen took a sip of Henry’s excellent brandy, leaned back in his armchair, and crossed his legs at the knee. “Both women, as well as Mary, are well and in Lord Didcomb’s employ. As to what we are dealing with? Well, that is a little more complicated. Emily’s ‘golden god’ is not only the heir to the Warthon earldom, he is also doing rather well for himself in trade, has his fingers in all sorts of pies in the City, and runs a very exclusive gentlemen’s club. In fact, it is so exclusive, the only way I got any information at all was by hiring on at the wine merchant who supplies Lord Didcomb’s residence. Lucky for me, Didcomb is a loyal sort, and the merchant also supplies the club. I figured out from the accounts which house was the likely candidate and crept in through the cellars. The girls are there to entertain the club members, and on the night I was there, I counted fourteen.”

  Henry leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands before his face, and frowned. “So the ‘golden god’ is a glorified pimp.”

  Allen grinned. “Aren’t you going all proper on us in your old age.”

  Henry was pleased to see his friend back to his carefree old self and grinned right back. “You will recall my general dislike of pimps. So how bad is he?”

  “According to the women in his employ, Lord Didcomb is a good master even if the requirements are sometimes strenuous. They are all there of their own free will, have everything they could possibly want, and their families are supported with a London upper-servant wage, paid out by the barrister in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Apparently Didcomb does his best to match members to what he knows the women like, and he never uses one for a display who doesn’t appreciate what’s being done to her. They all have oils in their rooms to ease the way and ointments for after things get rough. That’s much better than what the average madam provides or even allows.”

  “A smart pimp with a heart, then. At least he is not following in Astor’s footsteps.”

  Allen sat up a little. “You said something last night about the Earl of Warthon being part of the Snake Pit. So this is the same secret society you’ve been tracking ever since Hampstead?”

  Henry nodded gravely. “Indeed, Didcomb is trying to wrest control over it from Warthon, and, due to his efforts, it’s now more of an economic alliance. But I still can’t like that Emily and I owe the man a debt of gratitude.”

  Allen considered the situation for a moment. “You wanted to get on the inside. Here is your chance.”

  AT SEVEN O’CLOCK SHARP MRS. Tibbit had William and Thomas serve an elaborate meal in the formal dining room. Isabella, Emily, and Henry ate at a table designed for twelve where they were so widely spaced they practically had to shout at each other, which caused much hilarity and teasing from Emily. In all the fifteen years of her life, she had never eaten a meal in the dining room and assumed, quite rightly, Mrs. Tibbit had robbed them all of their comfort in the breakfast room to impress her future mistress. So once she had wolfed down three of her favorite eclairs for dessert, Emily lost no time herding Henry and Isabella to the music room. She urged them to sit on the little sofa opposite the piano and, noting the fading light outside the window, lit a few candles around the room.

  Isabella leaned back against Henry’s arm resting along the back of the sofa, and shyly placed her left hand on his thigh. Henry caressed it gently, glad for a chance to get her used to his touch in the comfortable setting of his house.

  Emily delighted them with an exquisite rendition of “Rondo Alla Turca,” and Isabella had to smile at Henry’s fingers playing along on the back of her hand. He was a dear friend, her hero, and a man of his word. Perhaps she truly could give herself to him.

  EMILY EXCUSED HERSELF AFTER THE rondo to seek her bed, citing her desire to say goodbye to her great-grandmother before her trip to Avon in the morning. After she had kissed both Henry and Isabella good night, Henry opened the door to the terrace and held out his hand to Isabella. “Come dance with me.”

  Taking his hand, she followed him into the warm summer evening. “But we have no music.”

  He twirled her into waltzing position. “I’ll sing for us.” Humming a popular waltz, he swayed them back and forth until Isabella joined the singing, and Henry led them in a slow, sensuous dance around the terrace. By the time the waltz ended, their bodies were flush against each other. Neither of them stepped out of the embrace, even though Isabella could feel his erect member against her, and the sensation filled her with trepidation.

  Henry knew she could feel his excitement and stroked her back in silent praise for her bravery. “Are you ready for another kiss?”

  Isabella’s mouth was as dry as she imagined a desert would be. Licking her lips and swallowing did nothing to alleviate the arid discomfort. She nodded nonetheless.

  Henry admired her more every minute. He brushed his lips against hers and then swept his tongue along her mouth to moisten her lips. It startled her, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Isabella, nothing will happen here that you don’t want. I know my excitement makes you nervous, but just because I’m excited by your nearness does not mean I will fall upon you like a wild beast.” Henry stroked his left hand from the small of her back to the nape of her neck and back down again. His right hand caressed the side of her face as he leaned in for another kiss. He massaged her lips gently with his, but her body was still rigid with tension. “My darling, my objective is only to make you feel pleasure. You have absolutely nothing to fear.”

  She nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder while he stroked her hair and cuddled her close. She was half a head shorter and fit perfectly against him, a fact not lost on his wayward organ. He felt himself twitch, and mindful not to frighten her any further, he stepped back. “Come, my love, let’s order tea to my sitting room, and I’ll show you where you will sleep.”

  Henry took her hand to lead her upstairs and into what was clearly a gentleman’s sitting room. Several brightly colored Persian rugs covered the polished parquet floor, and generously sized upholstered leather furniture was grouped around the fireplace. The candelabra on the mantel only partially illuminated the room, but Isabella could make out a great many books stacked on the floor, even though there were several bookshelves along the walls standing ready to receive them. “Are you principally opposed to housing you
r books on shelves?”

  Henry laughed. “This is my private room and I read here for pleasure. I like to have my favorites on hand.” He shrugged. “Mrs. Tibbit wants to box my ears and tell me to clean up every time she comes in here, so I mostly keep the servants out.”

  Isabella tried to imagine the kindly matron who ran Henry’s household boxing his ears, and burst into laughter, relieving some of her tension.

  The sound of Isabella’s laughter was pure joy to Henry. “Oh, you have no idea! Tibby boxed my ears and told me to tidy up a great many times when she was my nursemaid. She didn’t think it healthy for a boy to grow up without chores and responsibilities.”

  Isabella thought the fact a grown man would deliberately flout his former nursemaid’s rules even funnier, and Henry reveled in her unencumbered mirth. Draping his arm around her shoulder, he steered her toward a door next to one of the three sash windows. He led her into the adjacent chamber, lit the candle on a small table just inside the room, then took the key out of the lock and handed it to Isabella. “This is your room, if you’re uncomfortable, or need time to yourself. If you feel things have gone too fast or too far, or you simply want to retire for the night, this is where you can come.” He kissed her brow and gave her shoulders a reassuring rub. “I will not follow you in here unless you specifically invite me in. The key you hold is the only one to this door, so you can be assured of your privacy.”

  Isabella closed her fingers around the key and took a good look around the room. The dark turned posts of the four-poster bed were draped with white lace, and the white bedspread and pillows embroidered with a flower motif she couldn’t clearly see by the light of a single candle. The armoire, chest of drawers, and privacy screen in the corner were made of the same dark wood as the bed and exquisitely worked. Rose-pink velvet draped the tall sash windows, and Isabella suspected there would be lace over the windows once the drapes were pulled back. The crown molding and skirting was kept brilliant white while the walls were covered in cream brocade, and a cream-and-beige carpet covered most of the gleaming floorboards. At the foot of the bed a pink-covered chaise longue invited rest, and an armchair stood by the fireplace. The whole room was cozy, airy, and light, even at night. She walked into the center of the room and held her candle high, imagining what a marvel it would be with the morning sun streaming in. “This room belongs to the lady of the house.”

  Henry smiled at the genuine wonder in her voice. “I very much hope you will be. The furniture belonged to my mother. I had it cleaned, and the room decorated, after we became friends in Brighton.”

  Isabella was incredulous. “But I told you I had no wish to marry.”

  “I’m afraid I set my heart on winning you all the same.” Accompanying his statement with an unapologetic grin, he held out his hand to her. “Will you spend some more time with me?”

  Isabella swallowed. She was still nervous, but trepidation no longer shadowed her eyes. Holding his gaze, she walked back to him and placed her hand in his. Her throat momentarily too dry to speak, she gave him a nod, and he brought her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss.

  “Thank you, my darling.”

  Placing the candle back on the side table by the door, she put the key back in the lock, then took Henry’s arm. “No tea, please. Just show me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE TRUST SHE PLACED IN HIM MADE HENRY feel ten feet tall, and by all that was holy, he would not let her down.

  They passed through his sitting room toward a door directly opposite the one to her room. Isabella expected to feel dread at what was surely to come, but all she felt was nervousness. She had chosen to do this, and apparently that made all the difference. She was in control and she trusted Henry to listen to her. Isabella even felt hopeful. She had enjoyed Henry’s kisses and his arms around her; perhaps she would be able to enjoy other things about lying with a man, even if the sexual act itself remained daunting.

  Holding the door for Isabella, Henry was overcome with pride at her willingness to face her fears. He had loved twice before in his life, but never like this. The woman before him was strong and independent, needing nothing and no one to make her way in this world. Still, she needed to be loved, and he was more than willing to give her that. They would clear this hurdle together, and then they would be able to build a life uniquely their own.

  Isabella halted a few steps into the room, taking in the distinctly masculine surroundings. Henry’s room sported lit candles on every surface. The bed, clothes press, and chest of drawers were made of oak, the bed and windows draped in a forest-green velvet, and the wooden floor covered with a blue rug. An armchair and ottoman by the fireplace were covered in Gobelins depicting medieval courtly scenes, and so was the privacy screen in the corner. But what drew her eye was the painting above the mantelpiece.

  “You have a Turner.”

  Henry took the opportunity to remove his jacket and waistcoat while she admired his favorite painting. He spent a good amount of time dreaming into it himself, but at present he was far more interested in the gentle slope of Isabella’s shoulders and the graceful curve of her neck. Stepping behind her, he unwound the ribbon holding her coiffure in place. Isabella glanced over her shoulder with a smile, and thus encouraged, Henry liberated her hair from its pins until it fell in dark luscious waves down her back.

  “I like waking up to this one,” he explained while running his fingers through her hair. “It reminds me of fog in a morning meadow.”

  “That’s exactly what it is. It must be spectacular in daylight.”

  Henry massaged her scalp where the pins had dug into it, eliciting an appreciative hum, then gave in to his urge to kiss her neck. “It is. And you are beautiful by candlelight.”

  Isabella tilted her head to the side to give him access, emboldening him. He traced kisses up her delectable nape and along her hairline to just behind her ear. His hands found their way around her waist, over her ribcage, and to her breasts and explored her fullness there, caressing her gently through the soft muslin of her dress. She stiffened at first, but then relaxed into his touch and leaned into his embrace, turning her face up to him. He kissed her mouth slowly and with great care, introducing his tongue into the play of their lips, while his thumbs brushed lightly back and forth over her hardening nipples.

  “May I remove your dress so I might see more of you?”

  Isabella was momentarily taken aback by his request. Both her previous encounters had left her clothing in disarray but had not required the removal of any of it. Perhaps that had been the very problem. Both occasions had been rushed and violent, and had lacked any of the tenderness and consideration Henry bestowed upon her now.

  His hands caressed her breasts, then moved along her ribs to her back to open the three buttons holding her blue gown together. He placed three kisses down her spine, one for each button he opened, and allowed his tongue to flick out to taste her skin. It was an entirely new experience to feel someone’s lips and tongue against her spine, sending pleasurable shivers down the length of it. Closing her eyes in bliss, Isabella held her arms out to the sides to assist Henry in taking off her dress, but he waited for her nod of consent before he moved it off her shoulders.

  Nerves still fluttered in Isabella’s stomach, but she could feel love in his every touch. His lips and tongue traveled the slope of her shoulder, down her arm to her wrist, and back toward her now eager mouth. This time Isabella not only opened her mouth when Henry brushed his lips to hers, but tentatively touched her tongue to his.

  Henry’s heart soared at the tiny caress. Her active participation meant everything to him. He turned her in his arms so she would face him, took her hand to place it on his cheek, and rejoiced when her fingertips stroked him ever so lightly and then traveled to his hairline to splay into his hair. His tongue slid a little deeper into her mouth to invite her tongue to dance with his. Stepping closer so their bodies touched head to toe, he encircled her in his arms, enjoying the warmth and s
oftness of her.

  Isabella’s body was slender and firm, and as he caressed her, she melted further and further into their embrace. The more her body yielded to him, the more confident he became in his ability to give her pleasure, but it also made him aware of how affected she was by her previous experiences. If she had denied herself for seven years for fear of being raped again, then it was his responsibility to make sure no echoes of those encounters intruded on their time together.

  Henry placed kisses on every inch of exposed skin, enjoying the little sounds of pleasure beginning to escape her. First she hummed; then, as her breathing deepened, she opened her mouth and the hum became a sigh. He leaned back enough to see her face, using his fingertips to continue caressing the swell of her breasts. She wore short stays and a chemise underneath, but there was still a petticoat in Henry’s way before he could unlace her. He pulled the string and loosened the undergarment until it slipped over her hips to pool on the floor. She opened her eyes at the feeling of the falling fabric and met his gaze smiling down on her.

  “I like the way you touch me.” Her words were accompanied by a dreamy little smile, and hope soared between them.

  “Good. I want you to enjoy it. All of it. My eyes on you, my hands, my kisses and eventually my body, all of me.”

  “I’ve been afraid to enjoy you looking at me.”

  “I know, love. It was obvious that day in the rainstorm.” He held her close and buried his nose in her hair. She smelled like summer rain. “Are you brave enough to let me see all of you now?”

  Isabella nodded into his shirt. “Yes.”

  “And may I take off my shirt? I want to feel you skin to skin.”

  Again she nodded.

  Henry removed his carved ivory cufflinks and placed them on a little side table within arm’s reach. Then he made short work of his neckcloth, pulled his shirt from his waistband, and lifted the garment over his head. Isabella watched him and had to smile at his boyish eagerness to get the shirt off. She had seen her brother do the very same thing when he was about to go swimming in the pond. But once the shirt was off, Isabella’s throat dried at the sight of Henry’s manly chest. He was lean but well muscled, suggesting endurance. There was a smattering of sandy blond hair on his chest and forearms, but the rest of his torso was smooth. In short, he was beautiful. Isabella itched to draw him, even more so to touch his skin, but she wasn’t quite sure how to go about either.