Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 99

He lifted her, lowering her onto him until he was seated to the hilt. “Is this all right?”
“Yes,” she whispered with reverence. “Yes—” She rocked against him, testing their fit and his sanity. “It feels wonderful.”
“Good.” He lifted her again, showing her the movements, encouraging her to take control of their lovemaking—of their pleasure. She took to it immediately, as he had known she would, rocking against him, testing her movements, seeking her pleasure.
He watched, his hands stroking her lean, strong thighs, running up her torso, cupping her br**sts, letting her find the rhythm that brought her to the edge.
It was torture.
She finally found the movement that brought her pleasure, rocking hard and fast against him, crying out as the wave of ecstasy threatened to break. He watched as surprise and passion passed across her face, as she looked down at him and spoke his name over and over—a litany of pleasure.
He reached down to where they were joined, setting his thumb to the peak of her sex, rubbing small tight circles there as he felt her tighten around him, about to shatter. Her eyes widened then, and he commanded, “Look at me, Isabel. Look into my eyes as it comes.”
She put her hands to his shoulders, her eyes locked with his, blue against brown. “I cannot …” she panted. “Nick!“
“I know.” He clasped her hips to his, the wave crashing over them, sweeping them both up in a maelstrom of passion and they were both crying out, the sounds echoing on the ancient walls as they found their pleasure together.
Isabel collapsed against his chest, and he held her there until their labored breathing had calmed, and all that was left was the sound of the wind rustling through the stones.
He placed his lips to her temple and whispered his love again. She shivered at the words, pressing closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around her.
Perhaps there was a chance for them after all.
Isabel sat at her dressing table, wrapped in a linen towel, preparing for her wedding night, which was an odd sort of thing considering that she and her husband had spent much of the day outdoors, naked, having their wedding afternoon.
Of course, no one inside the house could know that, and so when Lara had forced her into a hot bath, she had said nothing—not unhappy to have some time alone with her thoughts before she had to face her husband again.
Her husband.
Who loved her.
Or who said he loved her, at least.
Oh, how tempting those words were. She understood how weak her sex could be, now, how—with mere syllables—a woman could be laid low with excitement and breathless anticipation.
There was a sharp knock on the door, and Isabel’s heart immediately jumped into her throat with the thought that it might be Nick there before she realized that the sound had come from the wrong door. Earlier in the day, he had been moved into the adjoining chamber, their rooms now connected by an interior door. This knock had come from the hallway.
“Yes?”
The door opened, and Gwen and Jane entered. Isabel sat up immediately. “Is everything all right?”
Jane smiled. “It seems you are wound rather tight this evening, Isabel. Is there something on your mind? ”
Isabel scowled. “No. What would be?”
Gwen laughed, sitting on a low stool by the bed. “Oh, Isabel. It’s finally happened!“
“What has?”
Jane perched on the far edge of the copper tub. “You’ve gone and found yourself a husband.”
“It’s not as though I went searching, Jane. The whole thing happened somewhat without my consent.”
“But you’re not unhappy about it, are you?” Gwen asked.
Isabel considered the question for a long while. “Not exactly. He seems like a good man.”
“Despite the confusion yesterday? ”
Isabel nodded. “Yes. He’s made it more than clear that he’s willing to help to keep Minerva House safe.” The women nodded, and she added dryly, “He doesn’t have much of a choice if he’s marrying me.”
Gwen grinned. “Married. Past tense.”
Isabel shook her head. “I am a wife.”
“Indeed, you are,” Jane said. “And may it bring you much happiness.”
Isabel could not ignore the nervousness that came at the words. She did not know marriage as a happy thing. And there was no small part of her that believed that it was an impossibility.
But what a remarkable feeling it was to be loved.
And how terrifying. For it brought her one step closer to losing herself … if she were to reciprocate his feelings, who would she be then? She took a deep, stabilizing breath, and Gwen and Jane shared a knowing look.
“What is it?”
“Well, we’ve been sent here … to speak to you …”
Dread flared. “Oh, no. About what?”
Gwen smiled. “About your wedding night.”
Isabel’s brows snapped together. “Whatever for? ”
Jane shifted to face her more fully. Lowering her voice, she said, “We think you should be prepared. That is, you should know what to expect.”
“And since your mother is no longer with us—” Gwen added.
Understanding dawned, and the purpose of their visit was so different than the myriad of other reasons she had been imagining that she began to laugh. Rather hysterically.
The two women looked at each other, each more dumbfounded than the other, and Isabel kept laughing, unable to stop herself. She set down the comb she had been using and attempted to breathe. “I’m sorry!” She raised a hand, waving it frantically. “I’m sorry! I just …” and she began to laugh again.