A Lady of Persuasion (13 page)

But she did.

And she discovered that her future husband tasted even better than chocolate.

His mouth moved confidently over hers as his tongue swept between her lips, in and out. The effect was dizzying. Her breath rushed out in a little whimpering sigh. Toby’s hands relaxed where they clasped her face, and his lips paused against hers in a deceptively innocent kiss.

He was offering her a chance to resist. An opportunity to pull away. But as with the ice, she wasn’t satisfied with one taste of him. Maybe that fever
had
done something to her. She knew it was wrong, but she wanted more.

Her hands flew around his neck, threading into the locks of his hair where it met his cravat. As he renewed the kiss, she allowed her fingers to explore. How long she’d been wanting to touch him like this! His hair felt every bit as sleek as it looked, and the muscles of his neck were delightfully solid. And his skin … When she slid one fingertip beneath his starched neckcloth, she discovered his skin to be smooth and hot and just a bit damp with perspiration. A new thrill went through her, to know that beneath his confident exterior, he was simply a man, raw and elemental. And she made him sweat.

“Isabel.”

He murmured the name against her mouth, sliding his hands down to her waist and pulling her close. When her breasts met his chest, a little moan escaped them both. But this time, Toby offered her no gentleness, no chance to retreat. No, he had become a true man of purpose, pulling her tighter still and taking her mouth with a possessive hunger. His kiss tasted dark and desperate, and it was undeniably flattering, how much he seemed to want her. That no matter how much she offered him, he took more, and still more. His mouth moved again and again over hers, his tongue thrusting in and out as he clutched her waist with both hands.

And then …

Oh, and then.

He began to slide one hand up. So slowly, so stealthily. His thumb lingered over each rib. With every inch his touch crept higher, Bel grew increasingly certain it would soon stop. It
must
stop.

But it didn’t stop, this insidious, tantalizing caress that traveled up and up. And within her some forbidden sensation, some
need
, began to mount as well. It was as if all her awareness converged in her belly, following the rippling heat of his touch. Her breath grew shallow, and her fingers tightened around his neck. Somewhere in her mind, a shrill voice clamored for virtue, but she couldn’t obey. The unbearable need climbed her from inside and out—his touch, this sensation—up and up … and up.

His thumb grazed the underside of her breast.

Oh. Oh, please
.

Bel didn’t have the slightest idea what she was begging him for. But she was kissing him back now, arching her body and pouring that wordless plea into light motions of her lips and tentative sweeps of her tongue. He growled deep in his throat and rewarded her daring with another gentle caress up the side of her breast.

She clutched his neck tighter, kissed him harder. Telling him what she could never, ever bring herself to say in words.

Oh, please don’t stop. Please do it again
.

Her breasts ached. They were heavy, so heavy. She resented them, these useless, corset-straining burdens she’d been carrying around since the age of fourteen. And now, at long last, they seemed awakened to some purpose. Her nipples gathered to tight knots, straining against her bodice. Straining toward him. They hurt.

He could make it better. She knew he could.

Oh please. Oh please oh please oh please
.

His hand cupped her breast. She nearly cried out with relief. His thumb found her nipple, and pleasure sang through her veins and curled between her thighs. So intense, she thought she might faint. With confident fingers, he stroked and kneaded, and Bel kissed him with every ounce of gratitude she possessed. They were heavy, so heavy—but now he had taken the weight in his own strong hand, bearing it for her. Soothing the ache.

It was everything wrong. But it was everything she needed. She needed him, and he had come, armed with chocolate and kisses and that teasing, devilish grin.

He was temptation incarnate, and she was giving in.

At last
.

At last
.

Toby thumbed her hardened nipple again, groaning into her mouth. How long had he been aching to hold these magnificent breasts? Since the evening they met—weeks now, months. An eternity. God, how marvelously she filled his hand, the warm, soft flesh overflowing his cupped fingers. Desire pounded in his blood. He longed to push her back into the upholstery, wrench her free of this thin muslin bodice, and fasten his lips around the taut bud of her nipple.

She would taste so good. These mewling, erotic noises she now made into his mouth … she would make them
aloud
. Just the thought of it drove him into a frenzy.

He’d missed her, more than he could have expected. The need gripped him, to join with her—

to carve out a home for himself in all that lush, generous femininity and never, ever leave. And though some fragment of reason in his melting brain insisted that there was no damned way he could deflower Isabel right here, right now, on her sitting room settee … a distinctly baser portion of him quite desperately wanted to try.

She was his, after all. She was marrying him in a matter of days, no matter what her brother said.
The wedding must go on as planned
. Those had been her words. The surge of triumphant pride only fueled his desire. He kneaded her breast greedily, relishing the way she arched into his touch, denying him nothing. Finally, she was responding to
him
—not his forbearance with beggars or his philanthropic largesse. At last, here was that passion he’d glimpsed at their very first meeting, all that pent-up emotion she buried under selfless good works. She might hide it from the world, even from herself. But she couldn’t hide it from him. He had won her. She was
his
.

She would be his wife.

And … and damned if he would steal her innocence like a thief. Not when she would soon belong to him, by rights.

With great reluctance, Toby marshaled his will and released her breast. Framing her face in his palms, he gently pulled her away. Her labored breaths raced his. Resting his forehead against her lovely brow, he whispered, “Darling, I’m sorry. We really should stop.”

He saw the flush of guilt creeping up her face.

“I know, I know,” she said. “It’s wrong. I know it, but…” She chewed her lip. “You make me want to do things I know I shouldn’t.”

With a soft laugh, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “Funny, isn’t it? You make me want to do the things I’ve always known I should.”

“Shall we suit one another, do you think?”

“Splendidly.” And he meant it. The past few minutes had banished any of his concerns about their compatibility. During that kiss, they had suited one another to the ground. He couldn’t resist stealing one more. And then another. Nuzzling her ear, he murmured, “It’s a fortunate thing we’re getting married soon.”

“Oh, yes.” She straightened and inched away, putting distance between them. Passion had been put aside, and her typically placid demeanor had returned. “We couldn’t possibly wait any longer. I only wish we could marry today. I hope the timing of the wedding won’t interfere with your campaign.”

Toby blinked. “My … my
campaign.”

“What a shame, that we’ll have to postpone the honeymoon. But I expect the Lake District will be just as lovely in August as it would have been in July.”

“Postpone the honeymoon? What on earth are you talking about?” Brushing a finger across the tip of her nose, he joked, “Isabel, perhaps that fever affected you more seriously than we thought.”

She went rigid, instantly. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing,” he soothed. “Nothing at all.” He slid his fingertip along her jaw. “But my word, you’re so beautiful when you take offense. I’m the one who’s addled, darling. I don’t seem to be following you. Take pity on a besotted fool and explain it again, a little more slowly.”

Smiling again, she pulled a newspaper from the table beside her and held it out to him.

“Haven’t you heard? The Prince Regent is expected to dissolve Parliament tomorrow. It’s in all the newspapers. Polling will begin within a few weeks.”

Toby stared at the newspaper she’d handed him, trying in vain to form a response. She couldn’t possibly be serious. Isabel laid a hand on his sleeve, and his gaze jerked up to hers.

“Isn’t it perfect?” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “Our grand wedding, followed so closely by your candidacy? We’re certain to be the talk of London, if not all England. At last, you’ll have your place in the House of Commons, and I’ll be …” She blushed and dropped her eyes. “I’ll be your wife. I’ll be Lady Aldridge.”

Good God. She
was
serious. She expected him to postpone their honeymoon and run for Parliament in a few weeks. Toby, on the other hand, had no wish to run for Parliament in a few weeks. Nor in a few years, for that matter. Not when he’d successfully invested a decade in avoiding that very task.

“Darling, there’s no need to be in a hurry. Governments come and go. Our wedding will only happen once. Let’s enjoy our honeymoon, and then I can run for Parliament the next time there’s an election called.”

“But that will be years from now.”

Yes, precisely
.

“Besides,” he continued, “you’ve been ill. You need rest, not the strain of a political campaign.”

“But the prospect of the campaign is what’s made me feel better! As soon as I saw the paper, I knew I must resolve to recover my strength. You will need me, to stand by you and work with you. Oh, Toby,” she said, her dark eyes shining. “Think of all the good we will do together.”

He swallowed and looked back at the newspaper. So this was what had prompted her swift recovery, her determination to regain her health and marry him as planned—the prospect of an election. Not the prospect of being with
him
. A bitter taste filled his mouth. “I’m sorry, Isabel, but I just don’t think this is the time.”

Her eyes grew sharp. “What do you mean? I thought you understood when we became engaged, that I sought a match for political and social influence. You told me you would be serving in the House of Commons.”

“I know, but—”

She mimicked his baritone. “‘Even I could have a seat in Commons, lowly sir that I am.’ Those were your words.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“But what?” She looked near tears.

He touched her cheek. “But I thought… there is something between us now. Something real and undeniable, and stronger than any words carelessly uttered on a verandah.” He leaned forward to kiss her.

She pulled away. “Desire, you mean?”

Desire?
Toby schooled his expression, trying not to look wounded. Certainly, there was desire

—on his side, there was a prodigious amount of desire. But during that kiss just now … he’d fancied there was some deeper emotion beneath it.

Evidently, the fancies were all on his side.

She shook her head, casting her eyes to her lap. “Other people may marry for desire, but I cannot. Have I not made it clear from our first meeting, I intend to marry for influence and the opportunity to do good? If you will not offer me that, then perhaps—”

“Wait.” He put a finger on her lips, shushing her. Dear Lord, the girl was a breath away from crying off. Desperation welled in his gut. This could not happen again. First Sophia had jilted him; now Isabel threatened to do the same. Was there no lady in England who could see her way clear to actually marry him as promised?

Toby gathered what pride remained to him. Perhaps he could talk her out of this madness.

“What I mean to say is, it won’t work. Unless you mean for me to purchase a rotten borough

—”

“Oh, no!” Her eyes widened in horror at the suggestion of corruption. Just as he’d known they would.

“Then I should have to run against Mr. Yorke, you see. He’s served our borough faithfully for years, and what’s more, he’s an old friend. He’s also very popular.”

“Popular? But your mother loathes him.”

“My mother is a special case.”

“I can’t believe anyone could be more popular than you. You’re the most popular gentleman in Town.”

“In Town, perhaps I am. But these aren’t society matrons, Isabel, they’re farmers. Mr. Yorke understands their needs.”

“So will you, once you have an opportunity to listen.”

Dear, ridiculous girl, staring up at him with such expectation in her eyes.

He pulled back, startled. No, this was more than expectation. Her eyes held the glimmer of faith. Wholly unearned and completely misapplied, but faith it was. By some miracle, she believed in him. What a novel sensation. He found himself quite rapidly drunk on it.

“You will win their loyalty,” she said. “I’m certain I know of no gentleman more persuasive.

For heaven’s sake, you just convinced me to eat an ice. Not to mention, to …” Her pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “At any rate, you’re very persuasive.”

She smiled at him so sweetly, he almost wanted to believe her. As if farmers would respond to the same charm as debutantes. They’d be mad to vote for Toby over Yorke, even if Toby paid out handsome bribes—which Isabel would never allow him to do. This half-witted MP election scheme would be certain to fail.

But then—perhaps that made it perfect.

Even if he agreed to run, he would most assuredly lose. Isabel would have to give him credit for trying, the sweet girl that she was, and Toby would never have to serve in Commons. By the time the next election rolled around, she’d be occupied with her charities and—God willing