Treasured (27 page)

“Yes.” Her voice came out shakily as she nestled against him. His skin was warm beneath her face, and the scent of him filled her senses—sweat and sex and the lingering bit of whiskey. If she turned her head a little, she could press her lips against his chest, and the thought tempted her. She laid her hand on his arm instead—and found that his smooth skin stretched over the pad of muscle was arousing, too. The wicked pulse between her legs, already ignited by her lustful dream, picked up heat.

Jack smoothed her hair back from her face, his fingers gliding over the thick mass, lifting it, then letting it cascade back over his chest. Isobel drifted her fingers down his arm and back up, enjoying the tickle of the hair on his arm. She traced the tendons and bones of his hand, intrigued by the contrast of textures. She closed her eyes, imagining how it would be to run her hand down his legs or to touch the soft skin of his stomach.

“I heard you this morning, before you woke.” He ran his thumbnail up her arm from wrist to shoulder, sending a tendril of pleasure rippling through her.

“Oh.” Embarrassment heated her skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It was a pleasant way to wake up.” He ran his thumb down her side in the same fashion. Kissing the top of her head, he went on in a husky voice, “What
were you dreaming? What brought such delicious little moans from your lips?”

Now her skin was hot as fire and she turned her face into his chest to hide it. It seemed the height of humiliation that he had heard her, had realized what sort of thing she was dreaming. He chuckled and lifted her hair to kiss his way down the back of her neck. Isobel trembled, desire flooding through her, overwhelming her embarrassment.

With one hand, he flipped back the covers, exposing her completely to his gaze. Starting at her shoulders, he moved his hand unhurriedly down her, curving over her breast and across the slats of her ribs, up over the swell of her hips, then slipping back to roam over her stomach and down until his fingers tangled in the wiry hair at the apex of her legs.

Isobel stiffened, stifling a noise in her throat, and squeezed her legs together, but his fingers crept insistently between them, seeking and finding the hot, wet heat, the quivering, tender flesh.

“Jack,” she choked out as his fingers stroked her slowly and rhythmically. She felt as if she were melting beneath his hands, dissolving into a mindless pulse of desire. “No—what are you doing?”

“Pleasing you, I hope.” His voice was husky and a little unsteady. He pressed his lips into her hair. “Does it? Please you?”

She could not hold back a low groan. “Yes, but, oh—” She broke off with a shudder as the undertow of desire caught her. His clever fingers were slow, then fast, stoking the fire blossoming between her legs. She dug her heels into the bed, opening herself to him, and he responded by driving
her deeper and deeper into a sultry maelstrom of passion. Her hips moved instinctively, urging him on, and her breath rasped in her throat as she raced, desperate and eager, toward the shimmering goal that waited just beyond her grasp.

Then it crashed over her, dragging her down into the dark, mindless depths, and she moaned, arching up against his hand. He buried his face in her hair, holding her as she collapsed against him, trembling.

Isobel lay, limp and replete, blissfully naked in Jack’s arms and beyond all sense of shame. She stretched to her fullest extent, pulling her arms back above her head and arching her back. She felt as boneless, elegant, and smug as a cat stretching in the sun. Jack’s skin was searing, and she was aware of his manhood, engorged and prodding against her hip.

“But, Jack . . . aren’t you . . .” She twisted and raised herself onto her elbow to look up at him. One look at his face, heavy with desire, answered her question. “Why did you not—I mean, did you not need to, um, want to . . .” Isobel stumbled to a halt.

“Yes, I need . . . I want.” He reached out to toy with a strand of her hair. “But I thought it might be too soon, that you would not be ready.” He smiled faintly. “I have little experience with virgins, I fear.”

“Really? You have never taken a maiden to your bed?”

“Not since my first time, and truth is, I was as green as she was, and we were both afraid of her father, who had the devil’s own temper.” He grinned, giving her a glimpse, she thought, of how that green lad had looked. “But hot blood usually wins out over fear, I’ve found.” He sobered, running his thumb and forefinger down the strand of her hair. “I did not want to cause you pain.”

“Oh.” She looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t care. All I want is to feel you inside me again.”

His eyes lit with heat, and something very much like a growl rumbled in his throat. He pulled her beneath him. Isobel wrapped her arms around him as he pushed up into her, expanding and filling her in a way that took her breath from her. Jack thrust into her in long, powerful strokes, and to her astonishment, the heat burgeoned in her again, until finally he drove into her with a hoarse cry, sending them both tumbling over into the shattering chasm.

When Isobel awoke the next time, sunlight streamed through the window. She glanced around, disappointed to find herself alone. Stretching, she lay back against the pillows, contemplating the night before. She giggled and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. Her wedding night had been nothing like what she’d expected. She knew that she had opened herself up to a wealth of pain in the future, but right now she could not make herself think of that. Indeed, she could not make herself think of the next few days ahead. The only thing she wanted was to revel in the moment.

At a noise from the door, she turned as Jack entered, still unshaven and wearing only his shirt and breeches. He carried a large tray with a jumble of foodstuffs piled on.

“Good, you’re awake. You looked so peaceful I hadn’t the heart to wake you when I left.” He set the tray down on the bed and leaned over to kiss her, a simple kiss of greeting. But as soon as he started to step back, he changed his mind and came back to kiss her more deeply. Isobel rose up on
her knees, the covers sliding down, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Finally, letting out a half-mocking groan, he set his hands on her hips and held her aside, pulling back from their kiss. “Ah, Isobel, you break my will the instant I see you.” He turned to the wardrobe behind him and pulled out his dressing gown. “Here. Little as I like to cover up that view, I must or I fear we shall starve.”

Isobel took the robe and wrapped it around her, rolling up the sleeves until her hands were free. She settled down beside the tray, examining the hodgepodge of dishes. Various meats and cheeses and rolls were piled on plates, along with a bowl of almost solidified porridge, a pot of cream, and another dish of soft, pale butter. Two cups were with a pot of tea, which, she found to her delight, was warm to the touch.

As she poured out the tea, Jack picked up a long roll and tore it in two, sending a shower of hard crumbs over the bed. He handed Isobel half of it and stretched out on the other side of the tray, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Cook took pity on me and made the tea. Apparently she has finally accepted me—no doubt she realizes I am now under your complete dominion, an utter slave to your lust.”

“No doubt.” Isobel rolled her eyes and handed him a cup of tea.

“I told her I was like to waste away to nothing trying to satisfy your carnal demands.”

“Jack!” Isobel choked and glared at him.

He laughed, stuffing another chunk of bread in his mouth, and she reached over to slap his arm. He simply laughed more and dodged her next blow. He caught her
wrist and brought her clenched fist to his lips to kiss, saying, “No, have mercy, you savage Highlander. I did not say it.”

“You are very merry this morning.” Isobel pulled back, trying to achieve an aggrieved tone, but she spoiled it with a smile.

“Indeed, I am. I am discovering that being a husband is a very pleasant thing. I should have tried it earlier.”

“Humph. You just have not received a scolding yet. I am sure I can be a veritable fishwife.”

“Ah, but I know how to wheedle you out of it.” He gave her so smug a smile, she had to laugh. “At any rate, I was persuasive enough that Cook pulled out a few bits and pieces left over from the feast. Though she foisted that bowl of oatmeal on me, as well.” He watched as Isobel tentatively poked a spoon at the gelatinous glob. “I will gladly offer it all to you.”

In response, Isobel slathered a bit of bread with butter and jam and popped it into his mouth. “Oh, no, Husband, I would not dream of taking even a spoonful of what Cook obviously intended for you.”

“You are too kind.” He tore open another roll and picked up a dark, round slice, tucking it into the bread. “I shall not ask you what this substance is. It tastes delicious, and I’d rather not spoil my enjoyment with knowledge.”

“I think you are wise.” Isobel watched him, a faint smile playing at her lips. She had rarely seen Jack aught but even tempered, but neither had she witnessed him in this unguarded, almost buoyant mood, the ironic, even cynical, edges of his humor softened. He appeared younger, almost boyish, and she realized, with a pang, how much she wanted to keep that lighthearted expression on his face. “What is the state of affairs downstairs? Are the revelers still at it?”

“Happily, no. Most of our guests have departed.” He chuckled. “Though there are a number of them asleep on the barn floor. Several of the maids are moving about, trying to tidy the place. I saw your cousin Robert in the library, but I was able to avoid crossing his path. Your aunt is closed up in her room, more, I suspect, to avoid running into your cousin than from having gotten foxed last night—which
is
the reason I presume your cousin Gregory has not made an appearance.”

Isobel drank the last sip of her tea and looked down at the tray, now half emptied of food. She glanced around the room, realizing she had no reason to stay here any longer. “Well . . . I . . . I should get back to my room.”

“I told the maids to bring up a bath for you. I thought you might like one.”

“Oh, yes.” Her face brightened.

“They are bringing it here.” His eyes were on her face. “And some of your clothes as well.” He paused. “Unless you would not like that?”

“No. I mean, yes, that is fine.” She was suddenly flustered and shy. “If you wish it, that is.”

“Yes. I wish it.” His eyes darkened, and Isobel felt the response of her body to that small action. She wondered if he was about to kiss her. She was certain she would like him to.

Jack started to move, and at that moment a timid knock came on the door and one of the maids entered. A second girl followed her, carrying the long, narrow tub between them. Their eyes were large and bright with curiosity, and they glanced around, particularly at Isobel, while trying to look as if they were not. Isobel could imagine what they were thinking, and her cheeks pinkened. Another maid followed
with pails of water, and for the next few minutes maids passed in and out the door, carrying pails of water to fill the tub, then kettles of water to warm it.

Isobel avoided their eyes, embarrassed at being the object of their attention. She knew that later in the servants’ hall they would dissect every little detail of the room, from the mussed bed to the clothes tossed on the floor to her tangled hair and his dressing gown wrapped around her. When at last the servants left, closing the door behind them, the room was oppressively silent. Isobel sneaked a glance at Jack, her former ease in his presence broken.

“I . . . um . . . I’m going to bathe now. Are you—” She cleared her throat. “Do you plan to . . .” She made a vague motion toward the door.

“Leave?” He pushed away from the bedpost where he had been leaning. His smile was sensual, his eyes dark and somnolent. “No, I think I’ll stay.” He trailed his knuckles down her cheek. “In fact, I believe I shall take that bath with you.”

“Jack!” Her eyes widened, and heat flooded through her. “But how . . .”

“You’ll see.” He bent to kiss her.

T
aking a bath with Jack,
Isobel discovered, was not only a pleasurable experience but time-consuming, and it seemed to take an equally long time to get dressed afterward—especially with the re-dressing. As she stood before the mirror, putting the last pins in her hair, Jack came up beside her, picking up a watch and chain from the dresser.