How to Train a Viscount (Wedding Trouble, #4)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “Something is concerning you.” Adam narrowed the distance between them.

  Isla jerked her head away, but he could see her long, inky lashes blinking rapidly.

  “I want you to visit me in Wiltshire,” he said. He paused.

  They’d kissed before, but perhaps Isla had been swept up in the waltz practice, and perhaps she’d been simply eager to distract herself from the unpleasantness she’d experienced at the tea party.

  Adam hadn’t minded. If she wanted a distraction, he would be a distraction.

  In fact, being more than a distraction would be tolerable.

  It would be much more than tolerable.

  Adam didn’t want to muse about that. Isla knew him. She knew every secret. She knew about his parents, about his sisters. She’d seemed fascinated about life in India and the Cape Colony, and she’d offered her own stories of traveling to France. She was Scottish, and she shared her experiences of what she’d found odd about England.

  Adam had never met anyone like her before.

  He couldn’t go about kissing her, no matter how succulent her lips were, or how drawn to her he was. Perhaps he considered her a friend, but a woman like her expected to be with someone who wasn’t pretending to be something he wasn’t. A woman like her deserved everything, and his title was hollow.

  He withdrew his gaze from her and focused his attention on Thabisa.

  “It was nice of you to look after her,” he said.

  “I didn’t mind. She was a pleasure.”

  “She’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss her.”

  The words seemed heavy in meaning. Seemed heavy, he reminded himself. That only meant he desired her so much his imagination was quite willing to believe she might return his affection.

  And yet...

  He looked at her. Her smile seemed forced.

  The housekeeper arrived with a tray, and Isla passed him a drink.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said, after the housekeeper left.

  “You’ll have a lovely time,” she said, turning away quickly. She blinked more rapidly. “Wiltshire is a most lovely region.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  She nodded. “Many gentry live there. Some of them like throwing country house parties.”

  “Well then, perhaps...”

  “Yes?” She turned to him again.

  His heart thudded. The words he wanted to say felt too momentous. In his mind he imagined them kissing again, but perhaps that was a foolish illusion. He wasn’t prepared to stop believing that there was a world in which she might truly care for him.

  “It will be nice to see you in Wiltshire,” he said hastily.

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows soared up.

  “I mean, not just you, of course. Your brother and his wife are also invited. And—er—your childhood friend and his wife. And I suppose it would be good to invite your childhood friend’s twin brother and his wife too. Just to be polite.”

  “Er—yes.” Isla appeared less enthusiastic.

  “I just meant etiquette no doubt demands chaperones.”

  “So you suggest I bring seven?”

  “Seven?”

  “Miss Grant would of course also come.”

  “O-of course.” He furrowed his brow. “I suppose the manor house might sleep seven other people.”

  “I’m certain it does,” she said. “Manor houses like that will sleep many more.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Do you intend to bring more chaperones?”

  “Would you suggest that?”

  “Perhaps.” His voice was gruff. “If you don’t bring enough, I might find myself alone with you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Reading a book in the library. Or perhaps wandering in the garden.”

  “And then what might happen?” She breathed.

  “And then I might kiss you,” he said.

  “How would you do that?”

  He hesitated and then he showed her exactly how he would do it. He took her into his arms tentatively. He stroked her hair. It felt silky soft, just as he remembered it.

  Her eyes were large and a shade of green even lovelier at this distance. No flecks of gold obscured the color.

  He ran his finger over her cheek, marveling at its softness.

  “You haven’t shown me yet how you would kiss me,” she reminded him. Her eyes gleamed somewhat, and then he kissed her, and there was only bliss.

  Utter bliss.

  Spectacular bliss.

  He’d kissed her before, but now he was leaving. He was going to live in Wiltshire and pretend to be a man whom he’d once abhorred, and she was going to stay here, near her family, and in the town she told him she’d long desired to move to.

  He didn’t linger on the sensation of her lips. This wasn’t a slow flirtation. This had to be everything.

  Because once this kiss ended, he would have to say goodbye, and he wasn’t ready to do that.

  He felt arms around him. Her arms. She embraced him tightly to her. Something soft and delightful pressed against his chest. Something most appealing.

  His throat dried.

  Her bosom. Her bosom was there, separated from him by only a few layers of garments. Or multiple layers of garments, considering the cold in England and the requirements of women’s attire. He pulled her more tightly toward him, continuing to explore her mouth, her taste, her tongue.

  He had a sudden urge to see her bosom, unconstrained by any attire. He wanted to hold it in his hands. He wanted to lick it.

  He drew back. “I—er—we should stop.”

  “Stop?” Her eyes widened, and he realized that before that they’d appeared dazed. Dazed and almost joyous. She shook her head. “No stopping.”

  “No stopping?” His eyebrows lurched up.

  “It’s a matter of proper etiquette to always complete what one started.”

  “I thought it was polite to leave some food on one’s plate.”

  “The metaphor may be imperfect. Food is frankly not my current interest.”

  “I must warn you I very much desire to touch all of you.”

  “Is that how you would phrase it in the Cape Colony?” she smiled.

  He blinked. “You know about such matters?”

  Her smile broadened. “I believe you’ve told me before I know many things. Your evaluation was not incorrect.”

  Oh.

  “Then you’re not—” He swallowed hard. “That is, you have—”

  “Are you disappointed?”

  Disappointed? Surprise jostled through him. In what world would he be disappointed?

  “No, naturally not.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now, I suggest you lock the door.”

  “Oh?”

  “Miss Grant is on an errand, but there are still servants here. We will have to be quiet, Lord Tremont. Are you up for the task?”

  “In every manner,” he said, his voice hoarse and a part of his body seemed particularly eager to show her the extent of his upward inclination.

  “Then I would not waste time,” she said.

  His eyes widened, and then he glanced at the door. “Er—right.” He closed it and then locked it. And then, just because locks might fail at any time, if not in his experience, then surely in someone’s experience, he pushed a chair in front of it.

  He turned.

  Isla had evidently decided the sofa would serve as a replacement for the bed. She reclined on it in a most intriguing manner. He allowed his gaze to roam over her. He didn’t concentrate on her face, even if, heavens, he would be a happy man if he could stare at her face the rest of his life.

  Instead he moved to the curve of her throat. And then to her chest. And then to her breasts.

  His heart leapt.

  Those were definitely breasts. Creamy and round with pink nipples he longed to taste.

  “I believe you were interested in seeing these?” she said.

  He nodded, dumbly, transfixed.

  �
��The view is better from over here,” she said.

  Adam did not tarry any longer. He sped over the carpet.

  And then he was beside her.

  For a moment he could only stare. “You’re so beautiful.”

  She smiled contentedly and moved over slightly, making room for him on the sofa. He scrambled onto it. His heart thudded, and for a moment he was shy, but then his lips found hers and shyness was a characteristic that didn’t affect him.

  Life consisted only of kissing her. And then it consisted only of kissing her and feeling her bosom with his fingers. He raised his gaze, and moved his mouth down, and even though she had lauded the benefits of quiet, she was hardly an epitome of it now.

  She was moaning.

  The sound was delightful.

  Nicer than any song he’d ever heard.

  He wanted to be here forever. He never wanted to let her go, and he moved his hands over her, exploring the curves of her body. He kissed her throat and where her neck met her collar and he kissed the pale skin of her bare chest.

  He ran his fingers over her breasts, familiarizing himself with the soft texture, and memorizing the exact shade of pale pink of her tight peaks. He brushed his fingers over her peaks, watching as they pebbled beneath him.

  She moaned again, and then he lowered his mouth and tasted her.

  Bliss.

  This was bliss.

  There couldn’t be anything nicer. No earthly delight rivaled this.

  Isla continued to clasp him and she moaned as if the feel of his back, the feel of his bottom were delights. And then she moved her hands to the front of his body, lingering on his breeches.

  Evidently, she truly was no virgin.

  She knew exactly what she was doing. His body strained to meet her, taking the importance of clothes lightly.

  “Please, Adam,” she whispered through frantic kisses.

  Adam pulled her dress up. She wore undergarments, but he moved his fingers higher and higher until they reached the space the fabric did not cover.

  There she was. He slipped his finger into her. She was soft and sweet and tight.

  He groaned. Her scent pervaded his senses, and he desired more. He moved his finger over her most sensitive area, familiarizing himself with her.

  Isla gasped.

  Adam continued to caress her there, but he returned his attention to her breasts. They were perched tantalizingly above her gown. The burgundy-colored fabric was soft, but it was no match in magnificence for her satiny flesh. He moved his mouth to one breast, learning the texture with his tongue.

  Isla writhed beneath him. Strands of her updo fell over her shoulders. This was not the Isla others knew. This was his Isla. His Isla who gasped and writhed on the sofa. His Isla who clutched him in her arms.

  Adam didn’t want these minutes to ever end, but if they had to, and unfortunately he saw no logical reason why time would pause in this instance when it never had before, Adam would make certain these moments counted.

  Isla’s hands were once again on a certain area of his breeches. Clearly, she had her own plans for making this time count.

  ISLA UNDERSTOOD NOW why women extolled the virtues of virginity. She’d thought it a foolish sentiment, one for a mind given to excessive mawkishness and an ignorance of equipment that could be used to protect oneself. French letters, for instance. Isla had used those before.

  Not all the women in the organization had availed themselves of precisely that technique for lessening the guardedness of various Frenchmen, and Isla certainly had not used it on everyone. But of all the techniques she’d been taught, lovemaking had a tendency to be enjoyable, and Isla took her enjoyment where she could find it.

  Yet perhaps it would have been nicer if Adam had been the first person to touch her there, and there, and there.

  And then she remembered that Adam was leaving, that he was not courting her, and this was only a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

  Truly, she should leave. Her hair was probably frightful, and Isla risked an interrogation from Miss Grant on how she’d managed to get so many creases into her gown.

  Isla was breaking every rule, and she didn’t care.

  Not if breaking the rules entailed her being closer to Adam.

  The man moved easily, as if foreseeing how she would best feel before she realized it herself.

  He didn’t lie lackadaisically on the bed, glancing on occasion at one of the mirrors, as if confident he was the prize. He didn’t undo his flap and point triumphantly to his manhood, as if prepared for a bevy of compliments. He didn’t push her head toward him, and he hadn’t yanked down her bodice clumsily to hasten lovemaking even when she was not adequately prepared.

  In everything, he let her choose.

  He respected her.

  He continued to stroke her center, and the tempo of her heartbeat increased, and then there were no thoughts. Thoughts were an impossibility. All there was in this world was Adam, and then he glided his finger inside her.

  “Yes,” she cried softly. “Don’t stop.”

  He smiled somewhat, as if it never would have occurred to him to stop.

  And then she realized he had to stop, because there were other parts of him she also wanted inside her. One specific part in particular.

  “Wait,” she blurted and then she fumbled with his flap. It had been a long time since she’d done this, and fortunately he seemed to understand.

  He undid his flap, and his long shaft popped out.

  Good.

  She scrambled on top of him, placing herself over it, placing it inside her. His eyes widened slightly, and she hesitated, worried he may have found her brazen. The men of the ton would be shocked if she behaved in such a manner.

  Isla didn’t need to be taught. She wanted to act. She wanted to feel.

  But Adam’s lips didn’t curl in disgust, and his eyes didn’t narrow. Instead he gazed at her with awe. No doubt, he felt the same pleasure she did right now.

  Incredible pleasure.

  She rocked back and forth, feeling him inside of her. She clutched his hands, and warmth surged through her.

  She wasn’t just Lady Isla, sister of the Earl of McIntyre. She was a woman, and she was alive and she was with him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Adam was sleeping.

  Perhaps they’d been too athletic, considering his long carriage journey from the capital. He’d broken up his journey with a night in a coaching inn, but coaching inns were notoriously unimpressive.

  He snored slightly, and his mouth had fallen open.

  His arms clasped about her, and she pondered moving to one of the armchairs. It would be of greater comfort, but she couldn’t abide the thought of being parted from him.

  No doubt her instinct for closeness was inadvisable. Soon there would be a much greater distance between them than a few feet. Pondering the future held no appeal.

  She’d spent her childhood dreaming of when she might be the lady of her own manor house, but her first years after she’d debuted had been spent doing something far less calming. She hadn’t minded. It had been easy to spy for Britain, but when she’d returned she found she was dismissed as a silly girl who’d holidayed on the Continent during the war. Naturally, she couldn’t tell anyone what she’d really been doing.

  She snuggled closer to him. The man emanated warmth. His heat made her body tingle, ushering in an unusual sensation, one she recognized as contentment.

  This was happiness.

  And it’s fleeting.

  The thought soared through her mind, as if a falcon had taken hold of it. Nothing had changed between Adam and her.

  When he’d kissed her, it hadn’t been her first kiss, or even her second, or her third, but somehow, the memory of his lips on hers had remained tangible, even though it had only happened once.

  She smiled.

  Now it had happened many times.

  She ran her fingers through his hair, thinking what an accident of fate it was
that he was here at all.

  “Isla?” Adam stirred. “You’re awake.”

  “Yes.”

  The man gazed at her with wonder she didn’t deserve. He tilted his head. “How would you like to visit Tremont House with me?”

  “It wouldn’t be proper,” she said.

  “But it would be fun,” his eyes sparkled.

  THE SUN DIDN’T SHINE, hidden by the gray sky.

  It was for the best.

  If the sun had shone, Adam didn’t know what he would have done.

  This was Tremont House. The house—not that he could call it that, given its vast size—was nicer than any building he’d ever seen. He didn’t require sunbeams to splatter over the walls or imbue the outline with a golden glow to see that.

  Unlike the townhomes in Brighton or London, it stood alone. Grand. Majestic.

  Isla had easily agreed to come with him to Tremont House, though she’d insisted on bringing Miss Grant and staying in Salisbury. Adam supposed he should be grateful she hadn’t insisted on bringing her brother.

  The seventeenth-century building stretched before them.

  “I suppose you would approve of the facade,” Adam whispered.

  “More suitable for sudden escapes.” Isla giggled, then turned sharply to him. “But you wouldn’t need to escape from here.”

  “No,” Adam said, and the word seemed heavy with meaning. He turned to Henry, the incredibly patient footman who’d come to greet them at the drive. “This is Tremont House?” he asked again. “All of it is mine? Mine alone? All of it?”

  “It is, My Lord.”

  Adam had asked him the question before.

  Isla shot him a warning look, and Adam gave his most casual shrug. “I—er—was expecting it would come with stables.”

  “Oh.” The man blinked. “There are stables too. They’re in the back though. Would you like to see?”

  Adam attempted to not gape. He bit his lower lip, just in case. It might be seen to be in poor taste to be overwhelmed by his own home. Adam didn’t know what the late Lord Tremont might have said about his younger brother, but he didn’t want to give the servants the impression he might be an imposter. Servants might give every appearance of solemnity, but he didn’t consider them removed from the temptation of gossip. Servants were hardly bestowed with magical powers.