Isabel pressed her lower body against his hard mass of muscle and found a moment's relief for her aching body.
With a muted growl, Marshall covered her with his body. He lavished her neck with kisses, holding her arms above her head with one arm.
Isabel wriggled to free herself from the sheet that strangled her with its confining tautness. She cried out in frustration. It was no use.
"Do you require any assistance?" Marshall asked, his voice deeper than usual.
She nodded.
Quickly finding the end of the sheet--as though he'd been paying attention to it all along--he held it and rolled her down the bed. Finally she was free, her thin chemise revealed to his hungry gaze.
Marshall seized upon her immediately, tearing at the sheer material. "I want to taste every inch of you."
Isabel caught her breath, warmth growing between her thighs. She reached for him and he pressed his chest against hers. He started kissing her again, but this time, he didn't stay at her mouth.
The heat grew as he made a trail of kisses from her lips to her neck. He gently kissed the hollow in her neck, his short blonde hair messy and spiky. She pulled it hard, snapping his neck back.
He gazed up at her. "Is that what you like?"
Heat enveloped her body when he pulled at her chemise. Then she moaned her approval as his lips moved down her neck to her shoulder. She felt a slight tingle when he kissed her there, just once before he stopped.
He held himself above her with his thick, strong arms and asked, "What is this scar?"
Isabel's mouth fell open. "Scar?"
"On your shoulder." He pressed it gently. "Does it hurt?"
"No, of course not," she replied, gritting her teeth at the slight pain. "It's old."
"But where did it--"
Isabel separated her knees, wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed. "Marshall, I don't want to talk about that right now. It's insignificant. A childhood scar."
He smiled. "I was worried, Isabel. But if you say it's nothing . . ."
She nodded.
He ran kisses down the center of her body, making moist spots on the chiffon of her night rail. He stayed at her bellybutton for a moment, circling it with his tongue. Then, she was filled with a confusing kind of disappointment when his trail of kisses moved up her body, back to her face.
With his weight on one arm, he cupped her breast while gently biting her neck. She arched against him, reveling in the sensations. Never had a man known her so intimately. Never had she imagined she would allow it.
"Oh, Marshall!"
Marshall slowly lift the hem of her gown.
Isabel's stomach heaved. She squeezed her eyes together.
"What's wrong?" Marshall gasped, his breath short.
She scrambled to cover herself, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't know. I can't do this."
"What?"
"We have to stop."
"But . . . I thought . . ."
The tears spilled onto her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Marshall. I know what you thought, but I didn't know . . . I didn't think . . ."
He pushed himself off her and stood beside the bed, gazing down at her. She couldn't help but look below his waist. He had already lost more of his amour, if his trousers were any indication.
Marshall offered her one last look, an anguished expression of base need. Then he turned on his heel and banged his fist against the stuck door. This time, when he yanked on the door, it opened.
Isabel pulled the sheet back toward her. She hovered beneath it, regret weighing down on her chest. She was disgustingly weak. All he had to do was snap his fingers. A few stolen kisses were one thing, but to allow such liberties with one's body . . . it was shameful.
Tears flowed freely down her face, and she forced herself out of bed. She'd left the candle on the table by the window. It was too close to the curtains to leave it burning all night. Thoughts of waking up the next morning and facing Marshall added a sudden hiccup to her cries. At least she would have all night to compose herself. For some reason, she didn't think it would be enough.
The door to the hall opened slowly, a dark shadow hovered at the entrance. "Can I come in?"
Isabel nodded, her legs suddenly weak. She swayed against the wooden post of her bed, hitting it with her thigh. "Funny you should ask after what just happened."
Marshall's face was flushed. "I just ran to my room, but before I was there for a minute, I ran right back."
Her gaze on his feet, Isabel sniffed rudely, no handkerchief in sight.
Marshall pulled her into his arms without saying another word. He held her quietly for a few moments. Then he said, "I'm so sorry, Isabel."
She rested her head on his shoulder but didn't reply.
"I'm a rake. A complete buffoon."
Isabel hiccupped again, her forehead hot to the touch. "You can't shoulder all of the blame."
"Of course I can. I should have known better."
"As should I."
With impassioned force, Marshall held her at an arm's length. "It is my responsibility to protect your honor. I failed you this evening and I'm sorry."
The last thing she wanted was his apology. If only he wasn't too stupid to see it. Isabel pushed him away. "Don't think of it any longer."
Marshall sighed with resignation. "Shall I put you to bed?"
Though she knew it wasn't what he meant, his arms beckoned her like shelter during a storm. Her lack of control shattered her illusion of security. As before, all he had to do was ask. Isabel stalled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
"Actually, I probably shouldn't stay any longer," he interrupted.
Obviously, he didn't know what he wanted any more than she did. She leaned toward him and asked, "Why is that, Marshall?"
He shook his head, his expression contorted in pain. "I didn't mean that, Isabel. I'll stay . . . if you want me to."
She grabbed fistfuls of her chemise, wrinkling the delicate material. "I want to know what
you
want, once and for all."
"That all depends on you."
"I can't tell you to stay, Marshall!" She shut her eyes and squeezed them tight. "It's bad enough that I have no self-control to stop things from going further than a kiss. I can't make a decision that will risk everything."
He grimaced. "What exactly are
you
afraid of losing?"
"You don't understand anything, do you?" She thought of all the ways in which getting close to her would hurt him. The closer they became, the more she had to deceive him. But of course he didn't understand. He didn't know.
Then she thought of the other thing that she didn't like t remember. At least that, she was more than willing to explain. She wasn't a Rotten Row prima donna available to the dandy with the
most blunt. She covered her breasts with her hands. "It's not so much what I might lose, but what I'll never gain."
Marshall paced, his footsteps loud on the paneled floor. "I can't do anything about that."
She stared at him, not wanting to blink and let fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "You're only limited by your assumptions."
"I can't marry you, Isabel."
"And I can't offer you everything I possess without you giving me something in return."
He spun toward her. "I suppose I was under the mistaken impression that the pleasure would be mutual."
She pressed back against the end of the bed. "I didn't mean to suggest that it wouldn't be."
"Then why are you treating it as a damned bargaining chip?" His boots squeaked across the floor, each footfall louder than the last. "I thought what we had was something more than yet another bid for marriage."
"Don't insult me, Marshall. You're not the only one who is confused. On my behalf, I thought we had something that was more than yet another weekend of sport."
He wiped his brow with the end of his shirt, leaving damp marks on its crisp surface. "It was something more than sport, Isabel. But it was
not
an engagement."
"Then please explain it to me."
"I don't understand you." He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her closer to him, but still kept her away from his heart. "I never spoke of marriage. Did you think you could convince me to change my mind once I was wrapped around your little finger?"
Her eyes finally overflowed. Unbeknownst to him, he was putting painful pressure on her gunshot wound. She couldn't take both the emotional and the physical in one night. She slapped his hands away. "The simple truth is, I never had a plan at all."
He stared down at the hands she'd forcefully removed from her body. "So that's it then?"
She swallowed, the effort disorienting and painful. "Yes. That's it."
Marshall stormed down the hallway, each of his footsteps echoing like a gunshot.
Isabel took only one step into the morning room before being frozen in her tracks. "Marshall."
He looked up from the table, his fork poised in mid-air. He dropped his silverware and pushed his chair away from the table. "Don't mind me. I was just leaving."
She hurried in and picked a plate off the sideboard to keep her hands busy. "You haven't even finished your breakfast. Please stay."
He shook his head. "I have some business I need to attend to."
"That can't wait the extra few minutes?"
"No."
"Oh. Then I'm sorry that I've kept you." She deposited her plate on the table, taking special care not to meet his eyes.
He crossed the room, passing behind her chair so fast that she felt a whoosh of air. "This was your decision, Isabel. You wanted it to be this way."
"I didn't realize that 'this way' would be so uncomfortable," she replied.
"Uncomfortable. Is that what you call it?"
"Well--"
"Don't worry. I shall do everything in my power to make sure you never feel that way again."
She turned to glare at him over the high back of the dining room chair. "You are determined to misunderstand everything I say!"
He buttoned his coat with shaking hands. "I think I have a firm grasp of your feelings for me."
"And what of your feelings for me?"
"As you've told me many times before, they are not very proper." He gave a flamboyant bow. "I've suddenly decided to work on my manners."
Isabel started to shake. She held one hand with the other and turned back to her breakfast.
Marshall stomped down the hall, his mind racing at an absurdly fast rate. How did she make him feel so low? He kicked a cleaning bucket out of his path, sending a downstairs ma. Howcurrying.
When he thought about how she'd consumed his thoughts for weeks, it was such a waste. If she was only able to see his him as a husband, she must not think very highly of him. Husbands did not shower one with affection. Husbands spent every night at the club, drinking and playing billiards.
He didn't want to leave Isabel at home to play billiards!
He threw open the door to the study, smiling when it crashed into the wall.
Edward jumped to his feet. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"That damn woman! Why didn't I listen to you?"
"Why don't you ever listen to me?" Edward threw the papers he held in his hand onto the desk and approached him. "What happened now?"
"Nothing." He fell into one of the chair, then placed his head in his hands. "She's just so . . . vexing."
"I thought she meant nothing to you."
With remorse, he stared into the fireplace. "That's not completely true."
Edward moved into his line of vision. "Not completely or not at all?"
"That's not important right now."
"What
is
important, Marshall?" Edward shook his head and came to sit on the arm of Marshall's chair. "Listen, I'm taking the family to Woodland Manor. I think you should stay."
Separating him from Isabel. Of all the ways he'd thought to fix the situation, he'd never thought of leaving her. Marshall stared at the fire, getting lost in the crackling flames. "I suppose you're right, but--"
"I
am
right." He placed his hand on Marshall's back, just like he would have before he married Jane. "With some distance, you'll return to your senses."
"Miss Balfour, my husband and I have taken our time deciding what we would do now that the season is over."
Isabel stood in front of Jane Templeton, knowing there were a multitude of things she could wish to speak to her about. Post-season plans were among the least intimidating. She released the breath she'd been holding. "Yes."
"After much thought and discussion, we've decided to go to the country house. It's so nice to get away at this time of year."
Isabel nodded.
Mrs. Templeton adjusted the skirt of her expensive, Parisian dress. "We would like it if you would come with us to continue teaching Paige."
"In what part of the country is the house?"
"Manchester," she replied simply. "Your position will be much the same. Do you ride?"
"Yes."
Her eyes widened. "Wonderful. You will be able to take advantage of the stable. I think you'll have a lovely time."
"Of course, I'll come with you, Mrs. Templeton," she replied, as though she had another choice.
"I should also mention that Mr. Templeton will not be joining us," Jane added.
A wave of nausea consumed her and she swayed on the spot. "Of course not," she stuttered. "Naturally, I would assume that Mr. Templeton has business in the city."
"I don't know that it's business keeping him away." Her curious gaze waited for a reaction.
A reaction that Isabel would never give willingly.
She wondered if she had seen more than curiosity in Jane's eyes. Something like sympathy seemed hidden beneath her frosty exterior. Isabel shrugged, saying, "I wouldn't know anything about that."
"Good. We'll leave tomorrow morning. I'll expect you to be packed by then."
Chapter 10
Isabel's belongings were so diminished, putting them in a bag hardly deserved the distinction of being called "packed." Perhaps it was a foolish, paranoid thought, but she had the strong feeling Jane realized that and had laughed over it.