Read His Wicked Embrace Online
Authors: Adrienne Basso
His Wicked Embrace (21 page)
“My mother always played it,” Isabella said softly, her mind still filled with memories of her mother. “I don't recall the title.”
“You of all people should know the name of that particular tune,” Lord Poole spoke out. “ 'Tis an old Spanish folk song entitled 'Fair Isabella.'”
Isabella looked with surprise at Lord Poole. “However would you know such a thing?”
“Quite simply. I too have memories of that ballad. When we were children, my father often played the piano for me and Emmeline. He had a talent for music that was certainly far greater than my mother's, and he took great delight in indulging himself.”
“And the song?” Damien inquired sharply.
“In memory of his mother, my grandmother. Apparently you are unaware of my family history, Saunders. My paternal grandmother was half Spanish, a strikingly beautiful woman with thick dark hair and unusual violet eyes. She had an equally lovely name. Isabella.”
Questioning looks of amazement passed between the earl and Isabella. Pitching his voice low, Lord Poole added softly, “An interesting coincidence, is it not?”
Chapter Seventeen
“Damn you, Poole!” Damien's anger broke through the silence that had enveloped the room. “What sort of bizarre game are you playing at now? I for one do not believe a word of that preposterous story.”
“Your opinion is of no interest to me, Saunders.” Lord Poole's tone was icily polite. “My only concern is for Miss Browning.”
“Your only concern is for yourself, Poole. What is your plan? Do you think to come into my home and steal Isabella away from me with your preposterous lies? I will never allow that to happen.”
“You don't own her, Saunders. This woman, who might very well be my half sister, merely has the misfortune of being employed in your household. I fear for her safety, and fully intend to do everything in my power to ensure that she does not end up like poor Emmeline.”
“You bloody hypocrite!” Damien lunged toward Lord Poole.
“Stop it! Both of you.” Isabella sprang to her feet, clapping her hands tightly over her ears to shut out their angry words. She gulped helplessly as she felt the tears welling in her eyes, and she trembled with the effort it took to contain them.
Her outburst had the desired effect of stopping the earl in his tracks. His head turned, and Isabella could see the blazing fury in his smoky gray eyes. She shifted her glance to Lord Poole. His expression was unreadable, but his stance was rigid and his shoulders stiff with tension.
“How dare you discuss me as though I were a piece of property to be fought and bargained over. Your behavior is insulting, and I refuse to listen to another word from either of you.”
Lowering her hands from her head, Isabella picked up her skirts, defiantly lifted her chin, and strode across the room, not sparing so much as a glance at the two men. Throwing open the door, she banged loudly out of the room. Her speed increased with each step she took, and by the time she reached the staircase she was sprinting.
Her thoughts tumbled wildly as she ran. Was it possible that Lord Poole spoke the truth? Could she in fact be his half sister? Ever since discovering her striking resemblance to Emmeline, the notion had festered in the back of Isabella's mind, yet she had deliberately refused to examine it closely. Hearing Lord Poole voice the possibility had shaken Isabella. Frightened her. Filled her with an equal sense of longing and dread.
Her mind spinning with shock, Isabella stumbled up the staircase, letting out a sob of relief when she entered the private sanctuary of her room. She felt a mild sense of satisfaction as she slammed the door loudly, and for good measure, turned the key to lock the door.
She took a few small steps and stood in the center of the room waiting vainly for the feelings of panic and fear to subside. Warm droplets of water fell on her wrists and it took a few moments before Isabella realized she was crying. Feeling a strange sense of detachment, she removed a fresh linen handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away the tears.
Isabella moved toward the center of the room and caught a glimpse of her pale face in the mirror by her dressing table. She immediately closed her eyes, forcing away the reflected image, wishing she could so easily dismiss the turmoil in her heart.
The knock she had expected and dreaded came the moment she sank down upon the bed.
“Open the door, Isabella. 'Tis Damien.”
“Go away, my lord. I do not wish to speak with you.”
Isabella heard Damien's exaggerated sigh and concluded that he was attempting to master his temper. The brass doorknob rattled noisily, but the lock held. “Open the door, Isabella.”
He continued rattling the doorknob, and Isabella knew he would not be easily dissuaded. Rising on unsteady legs, she-opened the door slightly. Fixing her gaze firmly on the earl's cravat, she repeated quietly, “Go away, my lord.”
“I shall leave the moment we finish our discussion,” Damien said as he nudged the door open with the palm of his hand and moved into the room.
Shoulders slumped in defeat, Isabella eased the door shut and slowly turned to face the earl. She kept her face lowered, attempting to master her emotions. She was certain the pain and vulnerability she felt was still mirrored in her eyes. And she felt compelled to shield Damien from her distress.
“First of all, I must beg your pardon for my behavior downstairs. Lord Poole usually acts like a braying ass, but that does not excuse my conduct.” A self mocking expression touched the corners of Damien's mouth. “I am sorry.”
“Do you think it is true?” Isabella asked, ignoring the earl's apology. She raised her head. “Could I be Poole's sister?”
“Half sister,” Damien replied. He narrowed his eyes. “I'm not sure what I believe, Isabella. Yet I can't stop myself from hoping this is merely another of Poole's attempts to bring misery into my life.”
Isabella stood watching him in silence for a long moment. Her hands began to tremble, and her stomach felt queasy. “Would you hate me? If it were true?” she finally whispered.
“I could never hate you, my dear.” Damien moved forward and lightly touched Isabella's shoulder. “But in all honesty, I must confess I would be very pleased to prove Poole a liar.”
“I see.” A heavy weight settled in Isabella's breast. She breathed deeply, but it would not ease. “Ever since I was told that Charles Browning was not my real father, I've longed to learn the truth about my birth. Yet I never let myself hope I could discover my real family, because I knew it was an impossible task. The answers died with my mother all those years ago. But tonight ... tonight Lord Poole brought that hope back to life.”
Isabella shut her eyes tightly, willing back the tears. “I am afraid, Damien. I am terrified to learn the truth, yet I am drawn almost against my will toward it. If I am indeed Poole's sister, then I have finally found the family I've hungered to know for so many years. And that discovery will, by your own admission, bring you misery. I don't want to hurt you, Damien.”
“Isabella.” Damien reached out and pulled her closely against him. A wave of guilt engulfed Isabella at his affection and concern, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed noisily.
Damien held her tightly, murmuring soothing words until her sobs became sniffles. Isabella shifted her position slightly and laid her head against his shoulder. She felt so secure in his arms. Taking the handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed at her tears and gulped back the few remaining sobs.
“I am sorry,” she said softly. “I never meant to lose such complete control over my emotions.”
“It has been a shocking evening for both of us. A few tears are understandable.” He touched her cheek. “I might shed a few myself before the night is over.”
Isabella felt her lips curve into a smile. “I highly doubt that, sir.” She stared into his handsome face, finding it impossible to picture him succumbing to tears when faced with adversity.
“I won't lie to you, Isabella,” Damien said solemnly, his penetrating gaze never faltering. “I'm not thrilled with the notion of having Poole for a brother-in-law again.”
Isabella's brows shot up in surprise. “That is hardly the issue, sir. I have no plans to marry you.”
“We will marry,” he said.
A look crossed his face that caused a stirring in Isabella's heart. She held her tongue, realizing with surprise that she had no inclination to argue the point with him. Although she had been adamant in her refusal of his marriage proposal earlier, her mind, prompted by her heart, now wavered. Perhaps they should marry. It was clear that Damien cared for her, maybe even more than he realized.
Isabella knew he was capable of love, for even though she had often insisted he devote more time to Catherine and Ian, she never once doubted the depth of love Damien carried for his children. Perhaps someday he would come to love her. The thought thrilled and humbled Isabella.
She gently pressed her palm to Damien's chest and felt his heartbeat. For one tiny fragment of time she swore their hearts thudded in unison. She raised her chin and slowly lifted her face toward his. Damien smiled and touched his lips to hers briefly, but Isabella could feel his desire. His eagerness. His hunger. It exactly mirrored her own needs. Pressing herself against him, she returned the kiss passionately, holding nothing back. -
Her tongue met his boldly, imitating the strong thrusts she remembered from their previous joining. Damien's hands roamed her body with urgent gentleness, his lips trailing sweet, succulent kisses down her sensitive neck.
“Tell me to leave,” he whispered huskily.
Her heart was beating like a drum in her ears, and it took Isabella a few moments to realize Damien had spoken. She tentatively raised her head. She could hear his uneven breathing in the silence and see her own blatant need reflected in his stormy gray eyes.
“What did you say?”
“Tell me to leave before I throw you down upon this bed and thrust myself inside your warmth.” He slipped a hand beneath her skirt and possessively ran his palm up her leg to the apex of her thighs, emphasizing his meaning.
Isabella became still. She did her best to focus her vision on Damien's handsome features, but she felt lost in an erotic spell. Damien's hand remained between her thighs, pressing, rubbing, stroking. Isabella let out a small cry when she felt the hot wetness he brought forth. It was shocking. Scandalous. Leaning closer to him, Isabella nipped playfully at Damien's earlobe. Her hands moved beneath his jacket and waistcoat, and she kneaded his chest sensually.
“Please stay with me tonight.”
Damien smiled broadly, jolting the aching heat in Isabella's body. “An excellent suggestion, my dear.”
He swept her up in his arms and laid her down on the bed. He bent down and kissed her lips fully, his tongue caressing her warm mouth. She drew him against her body, running her hands through his thick, dark hair. Isabella could feel his fingers unbuttoning her gown and she smiled. It felt so right.
Damien's firm hands pushed the gown off her shoulders. He hastily untied the ribbons of her chemise and reverently lowered it to her waist.
“You are so very beautiful,” he whispered. The sleepy, sensual expression on his face made Isabella shudder. He kissed her lips sweetly and then bowed to run his tongue over her bare nipple.
Isabella felt the warm tingling between her thighs immediately. She sucked in her breath and arched her shoulders, thrusting her nipple deep into his mouth. Her hands clawed at his back, tugging ineffectively at his shirt.
Damien rose to his knees, pulled his shirt over his head and flung it across the room. Isabella giggled.
Damien flashed her a wicked grin as he reached down and peeled off her remaining garments. His hot gaze remained riveted on her naked splendor as he impatiently tore off the rest of his own clothing.
His tongue caressed her navel and she felt acutely conscious of her femininity as he kissed the inner softness of her thighs. His breath was warm against the tight curls surrounding her womanhood as his kisses lingered on her upper thighs.
“Open for me,” he urged.
The husky edge to his voice made her shiver. She spread her legs wide, then screamed with shock and embarrassment as Damien began to run his tongue up and down the most intimate part of her.
“You mustn't,” she cried out weakly, feeling the blush spread through her entire body.
“So perfect,” Damien muttered passionately, ignoring her protests. His fingers opened the delicate folds of her body and the tip of his tongue laved the sensitive bud.
Isabella went rigid as the emotions washed over her, overwhelming her. How deeply and completely she loved him! After a few moments of mind-bending tension, Isabella reached her peak. At her cry of release, Damien lifted himself and plunged deep inside her. A moan of pure pleasure passed her lips as she arched her body to fit his, her arms stealing around his neck to cling to him.
Damien's hips bucked back and forth in a frantic rhythm. Isabella looked up at him through narrowed eyes, and he reached down to cup her buttocks, bringing her even closer. His breathing labored as he quickened the rhythm, thrusting deeper. With each hard thrust, Isabella felt the liquid heat flowing over her as the fiery tension began to build once again.
“Let me hear you reach your pleasure, my sweet.”
She moaned throatily, unable to stop herself. The swell of sensations coursed through her, and Isabella screamed as release came swiftly, almost violently. At the same time she felt a great shudder ripple through Damien and then the cool air against her skin when he suddenly jerked away. His rigid shaft pressed tightly against her upper thigh, throbbing insistently as it spewed forth sticky, wet semen.
Damien abruptly turned from her and lay flat on his back, his eyes closed, his breath coming harshly.
“What happened?” Isabella asked.
After a few moments Damien rolled to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. Brushing her cheek softly, he said, “You will be my wife, Isabella. But I'll not force you into this marriage by getting you with child.”
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