Emma Jensen - Entwined (26 page)

It came slowly—half hum and half pulse, rising from where his fingers caressed to swell like an aura around her. She felt her own hands clenching, as if to grab onto the feeling. "Nathan," she managed at last. "I cannot..."

"Feel it, Isobel," he commanded, his voice threading through the sensations. "Feel me touching you."

Oh, she did. She felt each delicious stroke. Then the pad of his thumb flicked over an exquisitely sensitive spot, and an intense flare of pleasure swelled and rippled through her core. It swept like a wave, inside and out over her skin. Trembling, breathless, she let it carry her unresisting over a peak never imagined.

"Ah...
Dia...
" She gasped as the wave crested, numbing and exhilarating at the same time. When it subsided, slowly, sweet tremors rippled away with it. "Oh, Nathan."

He gathered her to him and held her close. "That was part of my vow to you," he whispered against her temple. "A husband's gift to his wife."

Still struggling to catch her breath, Isobel rubbed her cheek against the hair-sprinkled roughness of his chest. " 'Tis a grand gift, Nathan... I'd not imagined..."

"I don't expect you did. But now you know."

Aye, now she knew. "And for you? There must be more."

"For both of us. But we can wait for it. I want you to remember this...

this first night."

"As if I could possibly forget. 'Twas a wondrous thing you did to me, Nathan. I'll remember it well."

"Good," he murmured, and shifted against her.

"I want you to remember, too."

His laugh sounded pained. "Believe me, Isobel, I could never forget.

You bloomed like the rose, so very beautiful in your release."

Isobel's heart swelled anew. "But it was me alone." Hesitantly, still unsure of how to go on, she slipped one fingertip into the waist of his breeches. "I would have you feel pleasure, too, Nathan."

"I did, sweetheart Oh, I did." Nathan thought to pull away, to break the contact until his erection had faded—or at least stopped threatening to burst through the placket— and he could take her back into his arms to sleep. But her touch, that gentle tug, was drawing him straight into the flame. "I, ah, Isobel, perhaps—"

"Perhaps you ought to be off with these. I expect they're in the way."

He meant to ask once again if she was certain, but the good intention was lost as he all but tore his breeches from his legs. He could feel each pulse of his blood in his veins, in the tip of his rigid penis. And, as he stretched out again above his wife, he felt each inch of her skin like warm silk against his.

He braced one arm next to her head, his hand sliding into her mass of tumbled curls. With his other hand, he traced downward, past the curve of her breast and hip to curve around her thigh. She parted her legs beneath him, welcoming the brush of his thumb against her damp core.

"Isobel. This will—I will—hurt you. I would give all I am to avoid it, but—"

"I know. I do know that." She reached up to stroke his jaw, her fingertip caressing his lips as his did between her legs.
"Tha gradh agam
ort,
Nathan."

He could not hold back the laugh, painful though it was. "Cursing me, are you? I do not blame you in the least."

" 'Tisn't a curse." She shifted, cupping him with heat and softness.

Nathan could not have spoken then if he had tried. She was still slick from her climax, ready for him. He slipped his hand under her thigh, shifting it to rest against his flank. Then, spreading his palm at the back of her knee, he pressed upward, opening her fully to him.

He pushed forward, slowly, his entire frame shaking with suppressed need and the intense pleasure of sliding into her tight heat. "Isobel," he whispered as he met the fragile barrier. "Hold onto me. Please."

As her arms clasped about his neck, he surged forward, filling her completely and shattering that last vestige of control. Panting, muttering vague, sweet words, senseless in the glory, he stroked once, twice, then emptied himself into her in a long, shuddering release that no one could convince him was not an earthly view of heaven.

He allowed himself the pleasure of lying still, his face pressed to hers, their bodies linked as intimately as could be, while his heart slowed to something approaching a normal pace. It was, he knew even as it was happening, perhaps the only time in his entire life when he had felt completely whole.

Thank you,
he offered silently, uncertain where the words were meant to go. He had been given the incredible gift of his wife, but it was Isobel and Isobel alone who had given herself. "Thank you," he said aloud, turning his cheek so it rested in the satin flow of her hair.

Her hands drifted like air down his sweat-slicked back. "You are welcome," was her soft reply as, for a moment, she tightened her thighs about his. It was a giving, and a welcome, and it humbled him anew.

"I'll move," he said, taking his weight again onto his arms. "I'm certain you are... not comfortable."

She was not certain just how she felt. Sore, a bit, and pinned by his much larger body. But she was still reluctant to let him go. Her legs clung to his as if by their own will, her arms loosening but not dropping from his sides. She sighed as he eased from her, and she smiled as he took her with him when he shifted to his side. There, her cheek pressed to his chest, she could feel the beat of his heart. Strong and steady, it soothed like the distant waves on an autumn Skye night.

They lay like that, silently, for countless minutes. Isobel let one hand slide down his side and over his hip. It was amazing, she thought, how very different their bodies were, his hard angles and hers soft curves. Each inch of his skin, taut over firm muscles, felt unspeakably wonderful.

She traced her fingertips down the depression in his upper thigh where those muscles met, then stopped as she felt the scar. Nathan did not move as she hesitantly explored the puckered line that ran nearly to his knee. Her heart twisted at the notion of what he must have suffered.

Thinking he had fallen asleep, Isobel turned to look at his face. His eyes were wide-open and fierce.

"Does it still pain you?" she asked softly.

"No. Does it repulse you?"

Startled, she stared into the dark, unreadable gaze. Then, slowly, she placed her palm flat over the scar. "It grieves me," she said, stroking her hand back and forth as if she could erase the mark. "Nothing about you could repulse me. Oh, Nathan, you're lovely. All of you."

He grunted. "Really, Isobel."

"And don't you be telling me otherwise. I'm the one here who can see."

His silence at that unnerved her. "Nathan...?"

"I was remembering the night we met."

She shuddered. " 'Tis something I would prefer you forget."

"Really? It seems to me you taught me an important lesson or two."

"To be sure I did. Not to trust your secretary."

Now he chuckled. "I was thinking more along the lines of second chances. You will give me one, won't you?"

"Good heavens, at what?"

"At making love to you. It will be better the next time."

Stifling her own laugh, Isobel teased, "Oh? Is this another husbandly promise?"

He stiffened then, and she knew he had mistaken her tone. "I am sorry.

The pain was unavoidable. I do promise—"

Grinning, she stretched to plant a quick kiss on his clefted chin. "So English, hearing slights where none were meant. What I am saying to you now, Lord Oriel, is that I've no complaints about the first time. But if you've a mind to prove yourself, who am I to tell you nay?"

She felt him stir against her, then felt the full pressure of his arousal as she once again found herself flat on her back. Above her, his cat's eyes glittered. "Tell me aye, then, Lady Oriel."

"Oh, I suppose I—"

"Twice, is it? Very well, then. Your wish is my command."

Her pleased laugh turned into an even more pleased gasp as his hands began their clever exploration once again.

She woke to bright sunlight and an empty bed. Well, almost empty.

Nathan was not there, but the indentation in his pillow where his head had rested was now occupied by a profusion of red and white roses, each stem clumsily woven to the next.

Isobel reached out to touch a petal, wondering whose hothouse he had raided and how much he had paid to do it. It was still early in the season for such blooms, and she knew the young Town bucks all but dueled with each other for what was available each day.

"Daft man," she said aloud as she lifted one white flower to her face. A red came with it. "Daft, marvelous man."

She smiled her way through her bath, splashing and startling her maid by launching into one of her father's bawdy Highland songs. It was a splendid day, and she knew precisely how she would spend it. She would seek Nathan out wherever he might have closeted himself and make him sing with her. She had no idea if he could sing, but she was determined to find out.

She chose a pale pink morning dress and, after pinning two of the smaller roses to the bodice, did a cheerful twirl in front of the cheval glass.

Aye, it was still the Isobel she knew, solid and far from beautiful, but the vision bothered her not at all. Whatever it was Nathan saw when he touched her was also in that reflection, and it was enough.

"Where is his lordship, Betty?" she asked the maid, who was busily tidying up the room.

"I don't know, milady, but the two gentlemen are in the breakfast room."

Isobel stopped in the doorway. "What gentlemen?"

The maid stopped working long enough to give her a quizzical look.

"Why, your brothers, milady. I thought you knew. They only just arrived an hour ago..."

Isobel was already racing out of the room. With any luck, she would be in time to prevent Nathan from caning the foolish, feckless pair into the street. With more luck, she would have ample time to do a bit of scolding herself. After she had hugged them and gotten all the news from home, of course.

Her brothers were indeed in the breakfast room, and neither looked at all as if he had met with the knob end of a walking stick. In fact, they both looked impossibly hale and handsome. Rob was sporting a new hairstyle that looked rather as if it has been fashioned by a small child's hands, and Geordie was wearing a blindingly yellow waistcoat under his tight and obviously padded blue superfine. Both leapt to their feet as she entered the room.

"Izzy!" Geordie cried, enveloping her in a crushing embrace. "How we've missed you at home."

"You're looking uncommonly fine!" Rob added as he sent her hair into a disarray similar to his with his enthusiastic hug. "Town seems to agree with you."

As always, Isobel's annoyance was no match for her affection. She returned the embraces, listened to the various greetings from her father and sisters, and tried not to laugh when Rob's eyes drifted off to the side as he recounted Maggie's message. No doubt she had tried to prevent them from skipping off to London, and he was too poor a prevaricator to hide it.

"What are you doing here?" Isobel asked as they settled back at the table. They had already taken full advantage, she saw, of Cook's morning spread. "I was under the impression you were to stay in Hertfordshire and behave yourselves."

"What, miss the opportunity to check on your well-being?" Geordie added an ample serving of kippers to his already full plate. "We had to see for ourselves that Oriel was treating you well. I must say"—he paused long enough to consume a mouthful of sausage—"you seem happy enough."

"I am perfectly happy." She refrained from making a tart comment about his obvious approval of the provisions. "So you may return to the country with the best of tidings."

"Oh, we'll do that, to be sure," was Rob's assurance. "In a few... days."

"Och,
Robbie." Isobel sighed but was unable to hide her smile. "Tell me, where is Lord Oriel? I daresay he'll have a few choice words for the pair of you."

"Already did," Rob replied, not at all abashed. "Not half bad, actually. I expected him to be a bit of a beast about it, but he merely muttered a few words about the park and staying where he'd left us, then hobbled out."

"Quite a man, your husband," Geordie added. "Saw him ride past the window a minute later. For limping along so with that stick, he sits a horse damned well. Splendid coat, too. Weston, no doubt."

All thoughts of lecturing the boys vanished. "He went out riding?" she asked. "Alone?"

Rob shrugged. "S'pose there could have been someone with him. The streets here are so dashed crowded."

Isobel was out of her seat like a shot and already into the hall when Geordie called, "I say, Izzy. Do you think Oriel would mind if we were to pay a visit to his tailor? We don't need much, really, just a few items to see us about Town."

She skidded to a halt. "Absolutely not! You'll not put so much as a button on his tab!"

"Oh, but, Izzy—"

"Do you hear me, lads? Not a button! You will stay precisely where I've left you. I'll deal with you when I return."

Leaving the pair to their grumbling, and, no doubt, Nathan's liquor cabinet, Isobel hurried up the stairs. She winced as she struggled into her new riding habit. She was a bit stiff. Hardly surprising, as Nathan had kept her well occupied until near dawn.

What a surprise was the instant warmth that spread through her as she remembered those hours.

" 'Tis a fair hussy you've become," she muttered as she shoved her feet into a pair of boots. "And shameless, too."

For she could feel no embarrassment in her memories, nor in the new longing they produced. Perhaps Nathan would want to make love to her again that night. She smiled and warmed anew with the thought.

Aye, 'twas a lovely thought. Of course, should he ride his hell-horse in front of a rushing town coach, it would all be a moot point. Bootlaces flapping, Isobel rushed down the stairs and out of the house.

CHAPTER 16

Hyde Park, Nathan had decided some years earlier, was God's revenge on man for having forsaken Eden. What had been originally designed as a simple, green paradise for the peaceful enjoyment of city dwellers had quickly become a showplace for poor taste. Beyond the ridiculous presence of several gaudy pavilions, one dirty false lake, and countless ornate gates, there were the crowds.