Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (34 page)

The magazine had been right. He was a remarkable specimen of a man.

And he was her husband.

The thought rocked her to her core.

He did not stop a discreet distance from her, instead coming as close as he could, his legs brushing her skirts, his body blocking the sun from her face. He lifted his hand, running the backs of his fingers along her cheek, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His eyes roamed over her face, and there was something there that she could not identify.

“What are you thinking?”

Were they at any other moment in their time together, she would not have asked … but they were here, in this magical place, the rest of the world and the rest of their lives far away. Today, they were simply husband and wife.

As if there were anything simple about it.

His gaze found hers, and her pulse raced as she recognized the passion there. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“I am thinking that you are the most magnificent woman I have ever known.”

Her jaw went slack at the words, so unexpected, and he pressed on, his hands cradling her face. “You are strong and beautiful and brilliant, and so passionate—it makes me ache to be near you.” He placed his forehead to hers as he continued, “I don’t know how it happened … but I seem to have fallen quite impossibly in love with you.”

The words rendered Isabel speechless.

Was it possible that such a thing could be true?

He loved her.

The words echoed in her mind, making it impossible to think of anything else.

And then he was kissing her. And she could not think at all.

Professing his love to Isabel had unlocked something raw and powerful in Nick, and without removing his lips from hers, he lifted her from the low stone wall to move to a patch of soft green grass in a small square footprint of the keep. They stood there for a long while, their mouths and hands exploring, and Nick was keenly aware of the difference this moment had from all others … of the powerful, heady nature of making love to his wife.

To a woman he so thoroughly loved.

When her hands fell to the buttons of his coat and his waistcoat, Nick tore his mouth from hers, gasping for breath as she searched for skin. He shucked his layers as they kissed madly and Isabel tugged on his shirt, making space for her hands to explore the wide, warm expanse of skin beneath the linen. The feel of her fingers against him was torture, and he broke the kiss, pulling the shirt over his head and letting it flutter on the wind to land outside the walls of their sanctuary.

He reached for her, eager to resume their kiss, but she danced away from his grasp, eyes locked on his chest. “No,” she said, her voice filled with a feminine power that made him ache to have her, “I want to see you.”

She came closer, blocking his hands from pulling her to him, instead running her palms over his chest and down his arms. “You’re so broad … so bronzed … how does that happen? ”

He struggled for words, mad for her touch. “I have an estate outside of London … I like to work in the fields.”

Her heavy-lidded gaze met his, and he clenched his fists to keep from pulling her to him and taking her mouth. “You do not wear a shirt?”

He shook his head. “Not always.”

“How wicked,” she whispered, setting her lips to him and tracing moist, wet kisses along the rigid planes of his chest until he could no longer bear it.

He took control for sanity’s sake, capturing her lips, then turning her to make quick work of the long line of buttons at the back her dress, loving the nape of her neck as she sighed her pleasure on the wind. When the fabric loosened, Isabel caught it to her breasts and turned, her brown eyes filled with a siren’s promise as she let it go, the lavender fabric pooling at her feet.

Nick took a deep, steadying breath, reaching for her again, whirling her around, and tearing at the ribbons of her stays. “I loathe the woman who invented the corset,” he growled.

Isabel laughed, looking over her shoulder at him. “What makes you think a woman invented the corset? ”

“Because a man would never have made it so difficult to get to you.” The undergarment fell away from her then, and he swung her back around, brushing the straps of her chemise from her shoulders until she was bared to him and the sky and the keep. His gaze raked over her beautiful body, flushed with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. “There you are,” he said, his voice made barely recognizable by the wanting in it. “Come here.”

He pulled her to him, her bare breasts pressing against his chest, and he took her mouth in a thunderous kiss, stroking deep as his hands cupped her breasts, teasing their tips until they were hard, desperate points of flesh. She cried her wanting against his lips, and he rewarded the sound by setting his mouth to one tip, worrying the flesh with teeth and tongue and a gentle, maddening sucking that set her writhing against him. With one hand, he reached down to stroke the eager core of her, parting the soft curls that shielded her sex with one finger, finding the place where her passion pooled and circling there, pressing until her gasps became too much for him.

He shifted them, laying her down on the soft grass like a sacrifice, parting her legs to bare her to the sun and the wind and the sky as he added a second finger to the first, driving her to the edge of pleasure, watching her eyes glaze with passion.

He wanted to watch her come apart in his arms.

She arched her back against the ground, her hips circling, lifting, showing him where—how—to touch, to stroke, to circle. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth, “That’s it, my love. Take your pleasure.”

He gave her that for which she did not know to ask … faster, harder, stronger, deeper … until she cried her pleasure to the ancient stones and clung to him as she spiraled out of control.

Afterward, she lay still for long minutes, and Nick drank his fill of her, naked and willing and his. When she finally opened her eyes, his breath caught at the wanton gleam there. She ran one hand down the length of his chest, sliding one finger beneath the waistband of his breeches, where he was hard and hungry for her.

“It is my turn,” she whispered, plucking at the buttons of his breeches altogether too slowly.

He stepped in, disposing of his boots and breeches quickly, until he was as naked as she, hard and hot and desperate for her. He took her mouth in a long kiss before saying, “I would hate to be thought of as unfair.”

She laughed, the sound low and wanton, and he hardened even more as she cupped him in her hand, stroking until he closed his eyes against the pleasure. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in eagerness; Nick opened his eyes to slits and watched her as she looked at him, fascinated as he grew in her hands, harder and longer than he had ever been.

As he watched, she leaned down to settle a soft, moist kiss on the tip of him, and he thought he might die from the pleasure of it.

At his groan, she stopped, lifting her head, concern flooding her face. “Did I hurt you? ”

He closed his eyes at the innocent question, unable to stop his hips from moving, desperate for more of her touch. “No, love. No …”

She looked down at him again, skeptical. “Shall I stop?”

His voice shook. “Do it again.”

She did, her lips soft and torturous against him. He held his breath, waiting for her next move, and when he felt the soft, tentative lick of her tongue there, he sighed his pleasure, “Yes … like that … God, Isabel.”

The words spurred her on, and in moments, her innocent caresses, the soft sucking of her mouth, were threatening to kill him. If she did not stop
—she must stop.

He lifted her from him then, his strong arms moving her to straddle him, and he pulled her down to take her mouth. She lifted from the kiss and he met the uncertainty in her gaze. “Did you not enjoy it?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “It was the most incredible thing I have ever experienced, love. I enjoyed it too much.”

Her brow furrowed, and he realized that she did not understand. He took her mouth once more, long and deep and powerful until they were both panting, then set his mouth to the tip of one of her breasts, suckling until it was hard and aching and she was crying out. “I do not want to take my pleasure without you with me. Not today.”

He moved her then, guiding her until the tip of him was settled against her. Her eyes widened at the sensation. “Can we? Like this?”

He raised a brow. “Let’s find out.”

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 breasts, 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.