Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (31 page)

“You have only to ask for it, Isabel.”

He blew a stream of cool air against the heat of her then, and she thought she might go mad from the torture. “Your mouth,” she whispered. “I want your mouth.”

“Good girl.” He was on her, his lips and tongue perfectly against her, caressing and licking in a lash of pleasure that robbed her of thought. Her fingers clenched in his hair as he worked her with fingers and tongue, and he growled his satisfaction against her. The rumbling sound brought with it the crest of feeling, a rolling wave of pleasure. She cried his name and he flickered across the peak of her sex, his mouth adoring her until she was gone, pressing against him, lifting her hips to meet his wicked, wonderful mouth, the pleasure rolling over her until she could do nothing but hold him to her, afraid to lose the one thing that was at the center of her world.

After she had returned to earth, he lifted his mouth from her and kissed his way up her body, stroking her breasts, playing with the tips of them until she sighed, then taking her mouth in another long, lush kiss. “You must never be afraid to ask for what you want, darling. Not with me.”

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I want the rest.”

The blue of his eyes darkened immediately at the words. “Are you sure? ”

She nodded. “Entirely. And you said all I had to do was ask.”

He shifted against her, and she could feel the hard, heavy length of him against her. She lifted against him, eager for the next part of this marvelous dance. He caught his breath, and she could tell he was trying to remain still. “Isabel—has anyone ever … spoken to you about … this? ”

She shook her head. “I have seen animals.”

He smiled, half grimace. “It is not quite the same …”

She pressed against him again. “Nick … please. I don’t care.” His scar had gone stark white, and she lifted one hand to smooth a finger along the mark, hoping to soothe the demons he was fighting. “I want it. I want you.”

“It will hurt, beauty. Just the first time. But I shall make it up to you.”

Her heart clenched at the words.
He was worried about her.

And she knew, in that moment, that this man—so full of concern even in this moment when she could barely think of anything but the feel of him against her—had never meant her harm.

She smiled, running her fingers into his hair and pulling him down to kiss her. When they came apart, she whispered, “I trust you.”

And the words seemed to make everything right.

He lifted himself then, pushing just barely inside her, allowing her time to stretch, to accommodate him. She tilted her head, considering the sensation. “It is strange.”

He gave a hiss of laughter at the words. “It only gets stranger, darling. But we shall try for something more.”

He rocked against her, traveling slightly deeper each time, until she was sighing her pleasure with the movements. “That does not feel strange. That feels nice.”

“Just nice? ”

“Quite lovely.”

“Good.” He thrust deep, and she gasped, her eyes opening wide as he seated himself to the hilt. He stilled, holding himself above her, “Isabel? Are you …”

"Strange again,” she said, her voice tight, pained.

He loved this woman.
The thought came clear and fast at the entirely wrong time for him to address it. But he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was true. He brushed his lips across hers in a soft, reverent kiss.

“I shall make it better, beauty.”

He moved, pulling slowly out of her, and she grasped his arms at the movement. “Oh. Oh, that feels …”

He reversed his movement, returning to her. “Yes? “ “Nick,” she sighed.

“I love the way my name sounds on your lips.” He leaned down and suckled one nipple until she was panting with pleasure. He moved in earnest then, deep, smooth strokes that chased away her pain and left pure pleasure in their wake. When she lifted to meet his thrusts, he knew he had her. He read her movements, following where her body led, eager to help her find her pleasure.

“Say it again.” He began to thrust deeper, faster, and the tension that had been mounting became unbearable.

“Nick,” she whispered.

Finally, he reached down between them, placing his thumb against the rigid core of her; he stroked there once, twice. “Again.”

“Nick!” she cried out.

“I am here, love,” he said, capturing her gaze. “Look at me, Isabel.”

“I can’t … It is too much,” she panted. “Please! I don’t know …”

He lowered his mouth to her ear, speaking softly there. “I know. Take it. I shall catch you when you fall.”

And she did as he told her, falling over the edge, convulsing around him, milking him with a heady, nearly unbearable rhythm. She cried out his name again, and he did catch her, finding his own pleasure only once she had fully experienced her own. He unraveled above her, thrusting a final time before he collapsed to her chest, their harsh breathing the only sound in the still, dark room.

He lay there for a long moment, trying to focus, to regain the power of thought before he stirred, lifting his weight from her even as she tempted him to stay with the little protest that she offered at the loss of him. Propping himself on one elbow next to her, he ran his hands over her flushed skin. She shivered and curled into his warmth.

He felt her lips curve against his chest in a smile and he pulled back to meet her gaze. “What is it?”

“It was not strange in the end.”

He grinned. “No?”

“No.”

“What was it, then?”

She tilted her head, considering the question. “I think it was rather remarkable.”

He kissed her, quick and deep. When he lifted his head, he said, “It was that.”

She drifted to sleep in the long moments that followed, and he watched as she slumbered, considering this woman who was so strong and soft and beautiful. Here was a woman who
lived.
She was filled with passion and pride, and she would take nothing but what she believed was right and fair. He reflected on the events of the day—the way she had so vehemently agreed to marry him…

The way she had so violently recoiled when he had proven to be different than what she had first thought.

She curled against him, sighing in her sleep, and the sound punctuated his shame. She had come to believe in him, to have faith in him and the life that he was promising her, and he had robbed her of her sense of certainty. And, while her body clearly trusted him, it would take time to win back her mind.

He would not stop until he had done just that.

He loved her.

It was in that moment, with the second admission of his feelings, that he realized the full force of the words. And the terror that came with them.

“Isabel! Isabel, wake up!”

Isabel shot straight up in bed at the pounding on the door to her bedchamber. The sound was disorienting, and for a fleeting moment, she had no knowledge of where she was or what was happening.

When the events of the prior evening came flooding back, she gasped, one hand flying to her lips to hold back the sound, and she searched the room for any sign of Nick.

He was gone, along with all evidence that he had ever been there. She noted that he had even moved her clothes, which had been discarded without thought, and draped them over a chair by the fireplace. The care with which he had covered his tracks made Isabel at once grateful and disappointed—grateful that he would take such steps to protect her reputation with the other residents of Townsend Park, and disappointed that he would so easily slip from her room without a backward glance.

As though he had done it many times before.

She scoffed at the thought. She did not care if he had done it a hundred times before. His habits were not her concern.

One hundred did seem a few too many times, however.

The knocking began again then, distracting her—thankfully—from her thoughts.

“Isabel!“

“Enter!”

Lara came bursting through the door at the command, breathless and disheveled. “You must dress!”

With a sigh, Isabel threw back the covers and got out of bed, heading for the wardrobe to fetch clothing. “I know that I have overslept, but it cannot be that late. What time is it?”

Lara had frozen in midstride across the room, her eyes wide as she watched Isabel.

Isabel turned back at the silence. “What is it?”

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

Isabel looked down at herself, immediately covering the pertinent parts as she willed herself not to blush … unsuccessfully. “I didn’t … that is … I …” She paused, irritated at her stammering search for a quick and reasonable answer. “I was hot,” she ended simply, grasping the closest gown and hurrying behind her dressing screen to avoid further embarrassment.

She could hear the disbelief in her cousin’s voice when she replied, “You were hot.”

“Precisely. It is nearly July, Lara.”

“In Yorkshire. At night.”

“Nevertheless,” Isabel said, willing Lara to accept the excuse. She peeked around the edge of the screen to find her cousin slowly looking around the room.
She must distract her.
“Lara.” The word gained the other woman’s attention. “Was there something you wanted to discuss? A reason you were hammering on my door, demanding that I wake and dress, perhaps?”

Lara’s eyes widened. “Yes!”

Isabel stepped out from behind the screen, tying a long belt on the midnight-blue mourning dress. “What is it?”

Lara pursed her lips. “You shan’t like it.”

Isabel stilled.
Was it possible that Nick had left?
He had said he was leaving last night … but that was before … well, before things had changed. “What is it?” she repeated, tentatively.

“We have a visitor.”

A feeling of dread settled deep within.

Everything was about to change.

“Who is it?”

Lara clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, hedging.

Densmore.
The guardian was here. The house, the girls, James—their fate was in his hands now.

And Nick would leave.
There was nothing to keep him here any longer. He was no longer needed for the marbles, or for anything else.

Except, all of a sudden, she seemed to need him quite desperately.

An ache started in her chest.

She would be alone once more.

“It’s Densmore,” she announced to the room, her voice emotionless.

“No.” Lara shook her head. “It’s the Duke of Leighton. He has come to fetch his sister.”

While she appreciated that had the ancestor in question likely had goings-on that he had not wanted overheard, the choice of two-inch-thick wood showed an obvious lack of foresight when it came to the requirements of future generations.

“Nick is in there with him?” she whispered. “Yes,” Jane replied, just as quietly. “He joined him almost immediately.”

Isabel turned an irritated look on the butler. “And why was he given the opportunity to meet with him before I?”

Jane had the good grace to look chagrined. “He asked for you and Lord Nicholas and his sister when he arrived. Since I knew his sister was not an option, I opted for you and Lord Nicholas, not wanting to irritate the man any more than he already is.”

“He seems irritated?”

“There’s no seeming about it. The man is furious.”

“Well, I suppose I should not be surprised to hear that.” Isabel pressed her ear back to the door.

The butler whispered, “You shan’t hear anything that way.”

“Yes, Jane, I’ve discovered that, thank you.”

What were they talking about in there?

Was Nick pleading their case?

Or was he betraying their trust once more?

Isabel quashed the thought. Surely after last night…

“Would you like to sneak around the outside of the house and see if we can hear from beneath the windows?”

Isabel considered the idea for a fleeting moment before she realized just how craven such an action would be. With a frustrated sigh, she turned her back to the door and faced the staircase at the center of the great foyer of the house, where Lara and Georgiana stood. “No. I shall go in.” She set her hand to the door handle before Lara stayed her. “You aren’t going to knock?”

“I am not. For two reasons. First, I appreciate the element of surprise. And, second, it’s my house. The duke had better get used to that idea.”

She ignored the three sets of wide, doubtful eyes watching her and entered the study, closing the door sharply behind her.

“Dammit, Leighton, you’re not hearing me …” Nick trailed off as she entered, turning to give a short bow in her direction. Isabel noted the concern in his blue gaze and ignored the instant pounding of her heart at the sight of him.

He was too handsome for his own good, or hers.

She redirected her attention to the second man in the room.

Who was not much better.

It appeared that the Duke of Leighton was an angel. She’d never seen anyone like him—a man who could only be described as beautiful. He was tall and broad, with a mass of golden curls; high, angular cheekbones; and eyes like his sister’s—the color of warm honey, fresh from the comb.

Surely a man this perfect was not the portrait of arrogant entitlement that everyone claimed.

“I assume you are the chit who is hiding her.” His tone was flat and unemotional.

Apparently he was both arrogant and entitled. And rude.

“Leighton.” Nick growled the name.

Isabel squared her shoulders and ignored the snaking pleasure she felt at his warning tone.

She did not need him. Would not.

“I am
Lady
Isabel.”

If the duke heard her emphasis on the honorific, he did not let on. “I am happy that you were finally able to find time to join us.”

Her brows rose at the sarcasm in his tone. What a loathsome man. No wonder Georgiana had run from him. “What is it that I can do for you? ”

“I’ve already discussed the matter with St. John.”

His imperious tone set her on edge. “Excellent. And what is it that you think Lord Nicholas will be able to do to help your cause, considering that it is I who run Townsend Park?”

His gaze narrowed on her. “As far as I understand it,
Lady Isabel”
—he said her name like it was poison—“you have absolutely no hold on Townsend Park, nor anything in it.” She went cold as he continued. “Indeed, it seems to me that my speaking to you will succeed in doing nothing but infuriating us both.” He leveled her with a cool look. “Do not make me seek out Lord Densmore to get what I want.”

He was threatening her!

She opened her mouth to retort, but Nick entered the fray. “I should not have to remind you that we are in the lady’s house, and you will treat her with the respect she is due.”

The duke did not look away from Isabel. “She kidnapped my sister, St. John. What respect is due her for that? ”

“I did no such thing!” Isabel protested.

“Yes, well, I imagine it will sound very like that when the magistrate hears of it.”

Isabel gasped at the threat.

Nick’s scar grew stark. “Leighton. Enough.”

Isabel turned on him. “You call this cretin a
friend?
”

“Cretin?” Leighton’s voice shook the walls. “I am a peer of the realm and a duke. You will refer to me with respect.”

Isabel’s eyes flashed. “No, I don’t believe I will.”

The duke lost his patience, turning to Nick. “You will control your female, St. John.”

“I will say it once more. Treat the lady with the respect she deserves, or I will put you through a wall. Again. And there’s no one here to expel me this time.”

His voice was low and menacing, and Isabel was rendered mute by the angry threat she heard there. The duke watched her response, then said, “Well. That seemed to do it.” Silence fell for a long moment before he added, “Lady Isabel, I should like to see my sister.”

Isabel took a deep breath, finally moving to sit behind the desk. There was something about the position that filled her with confidence. Indicating the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk, she said, “Why don’t we sit and discuss it?” She waited, feigning patience, until the two men sat. “Would you like tea, Your Grace?”

Leighton blinked once, surprised by the shift in her demeanor. “No I would not like tea. I would like to see my sister.”

“And see her you shall,” Isabel said, “but not before we have spoken.”

Leighton looked to Nick. “Is she always this dogged?”

Nick smiled. “Yes.”

“Of course you would find this amusing.” He returned his attention to Isabel. “Lady Isabel. I am aware of what you are doing here in Yorkshire.”

“Your Grace?”

“Not three minutes ago you called me a cretin. I feel confident that we can dispense with the formalities. I know you are running some colony of females here.” Neither Isabel nor Nick confirmed the idea. “I do not particularly care what you’re doing, as long as you don’t bring my sister into whatever nefariousness in which you are involved. Am I clear?”

Isabel leaned forward, placing her forearms on the cool leather blotter atop the desk. “Not entirely, no.”

“Isabel …” Nick’s tone was edged with warning. “Do not incite him.”

The words only inflamed her ire. “Do not incite him? Whyever not? What makes him think that he can barge into my house, threaten my safety and the safety of those who reside here, and simply expect me to turn over the poor girl?”

“She is my sister!” Leighton thundered.

“Sister or no, Your Grace, she arrived here of her own free will, scared and uncertain and desperate to be far from you! What would you have had me do? Turn her out? ”

“You’ve been harboring the missing sister of the Duke of Leighton! I’ve turned London inside out to find her!“

“With due respect, she was not missing to me.”

The impertinent words shocked the duke into silence. She looked at Nick then, not understanding the gleam in his eye. “Are you going to side with him?”

Nick took a long moment to consider his words. “I think it is best to remain Solomon in this particular argument.”

“Well, I’m certainly not cutting the poor thing in half.”

“A pity. That would have made it all much easier.” Nick stretched out his long legs, crossing one ankle over the other. “Do you think perhaps you would be willing to give His Grace a moment with his sister? ”

Isabel’s gaze returned to the duke. “Assuming your sister agrees, I see no reason why we cannot arrange a meeting.”

The duke dipped his head, the portrait of graciousness. “A noble beginning.”

“If you lay a finger on her, I will have you exited from this house,” Isabel said flatly, as though she were discussing the weather.

Leighton and Nick both stiffened at the words, so clearly an affront to the dignity and honor of the duke, but Isabel remained stoic under their surprised and offended gazes, standing and moving to the door.

She did not know him. Nor did she know Nick, for that matter.

A pang of sadness threatened. She set her hand to the door handle and turned back to the two imposing men standing side by side, waiting. “Georgiana is under the protection of the Earl of Reddich. The full weight of the title is behind her.”

She left then, closing the door firmly in her wake, and Leighton turned to Nick, his tone icy. “The Earl of Reddich is an
earl.
I am a duke. Last I checked, the hierarchy of peerage is still in effect in Yorkshire, is it not?”

Nick felt a pang of sympathy for the man. “I think you should be prepared to forget everything you have ever believed about your power as a duke. Every resident of this house would swear fealty to that woman before they would King George.”

As would I.

Leighton met his eyes. “Don’t tell me. You’re smitten with the girl.”

Nick returned to his chair, allowing the words to flow over him.
Smitten.
The word did not do justice for what he felt for Isabel. Not after last night, not after this morning, as she had lorded from behind this great desk that had been the seat of men for generations, not after she had fearlessly taken on one of the most powerful men in England … and won.

“Suffice to say, she has earned my respect and admiration. And perhaps more.”

Leighton’s eyes narrowed. “You’re mad to take her on, you know.”

“I do.”

“And yet?”

“I shall do it anyway.”

The duke’s nod was punctuated with the opening of the door. Nick stood again as Isabel reentered, and he was struck by her beauty; even dressed for mourning, the lovely shape of her was undeniable—tall and lithe and perfect. She met his eyes briefly, but her gaze skidded away before he could read her thoughts.
Was she as consumed with the events of last night as was he?

He had been in his chamber, devising a plan to get her away from the house for the day when the knock had come and Jane had announced the arrival of Leighton.

As usual, the duke had damned terrible timing.

The thought was quashed by Georgiana, who stepped into view behind Isabel, hands clasped tightly in front of her, averting her eyes to the floor of the study.

Leighton stepped forward, and when he spoke, there was immense pleasure in his voice. “Georgie …”

Georgiana looked up and Nick was amazed by the pure emotion in her face—elation mixed with nervousness and sadness, yes, but also with love. When Leighton lifted her off her feet in a powerful embrace, she could not keep her happiness from her tone. “Simon!”

Something that had been tensed in Nick’s chest since the previous day, when he had revealed his relationship with the duke to Georgiana, loosened at the portrait of sibling adoration that the two made—he was now entirely sure that Leighton had had nothing to do with driving the girl north.

Instead, when he set her down, Leighton took her hands in his and said, “I have been so worried, Georgie. You must tell me what has happened. I swear I will do everything in my power to make it right.”

The words brought tears immediately to the girl’s eyes, and she pulled her hands from his, taking a step back, away from him. Isabel was there, putting her arm around Georgiana in a gesture of comfort and solidarity. It was Isabel who spoke. “Perhaps I should have tea brought in.”

Leighton’s frustration—his inability both to understand and to repair the damage that was obviously devastating his sister, set him off again. “For the last time! I do not want tea! I want my sister! What has this place done to her? ”

Georgiana looked up then, fiercely protective of Isabel and Minerva House. “This place has done nothing but take me in. And give me a home. And a purpose.” Nick felt a wave of admiration for the waif of a girl as her voice rose to its full strength. “This place has done nothing but accept me.”

Leighton raked his hands through his hair.
“I
accept you. Whatever it is, Georgie … whatever sent you running to Yorkshire, I can fix it.”

She met his gaze with the firmness of a queen. “I do not think you can, Simon. I am very happy you came to find me. I am happy to have seen you, even happier that Lady Isabel and the rest of the residents of the Park need not live in constant fear of you coming to find me. But you must let me stay here. This is where I belong.”