Emma Jensen - Entwined (28 page)

He guessed the man's arms were full of more parcels. "What is all this?"

"Ah, Nathan." Isobel slid her hand intimately along his arm.

"Well?" he demanded.

Milch cleared his throat. "We have had a delivery, my lord."

"So I see. Did the East India Company decide to deposit its monthly cargo here?"

"Nathan," Isobel said again.

"This arrived for you, my lord." Milch awkwardly pushed a small, wrapped parcel toward Nathan's hand. Then he gave a slight rattle to the boxes he held. "These others, I believe, are from the glovemakers. And the ones near the wall are from the milliner."

"Hats, my dear?" Nathan queried blandly.

Isobel sighed. "It began as one, you see. But Mariah was there, and—"

"I believe I understand." He turned in a slow circle until he came to face the pile that had nearly felled him.

"Shoemaker," Isobel said.

"Shoemaker," he repeated.

"And the modiste," she said weakly.

A dozen or so dresses had already arrived in the past sennight. "Mariah again?"

"Your mother."

Behind them, William let out a low whistle. "I believe we have our answer as to the crowd in the Park, Nat. No one is shopping as there's not a ribbon left to be found in Town."

Isobel gave a martyred sigh. Nathan felt his own lips twitching. He knew precisely how she felt. Arguing with his mother was as useless as trying to fight the tide. "Well, my dear, have you left me a guinea or two to pay our beleaguered staff?"

"Oh, Nathan, I did not mean to—to—"

He clasped his hand over hers. "Dinna fash yourself, lassie. We'll only be on ale and bannocks for a quarter or so."

She gave a soft laugh and repeated the fond curse from the night before.
"Tha gradh agam ort,
Nathan."

He meant to ask her how long before he turned into a frog, but did not have the chance as he heard an ominous thump upstairs. "What was that?"

"I believe, my lord," Milch volunteered mildly, "the young gentlemen are in the library."

"
My
library?"

"Indeed, my lord."

Nathan, heedless of boxes scattering at his feet and his wife stumbling along at his side, stormed up the stairs and toward his sanctuary. William, chuckling loudly, trotted right behind.

It was, Isobel decided as they entered the room, a very good thing indeed that Nathan could not see. The liquor decanters had been removed from their cabinet, and one rested sideways on the low table, dry as a bone.

The others were lined up in crystal splendor beside it. The unfinished game of vingt-et-un spread among them nearly completed the picture.

Isobel's brothers were the finishing touch. Rob was sitting on the floor next to the table, one hand wrapped around a glass, the other holding a bent queen of hearts. One of the heavy wing chairs was upended, its legs pointing toward the door, and Geordie was in it, sprawled on his back, limbs going in several different directions. Isobel was uncertain just how he had managed to tip over, but she knew this was the source of the thunderous noise.

"Och,
Geordie," Isobel lamented, and stepped between the chair legs.

He waggled a foot in her direction. "Izzy! We were wondering where you'd gone off to. No, don't apologize for deserting us. We've had a dashed splendid time without you."

"So I can see," she muttered.

"Don't suppose you'd consider keeping your husband out of the room for a time. We've some straightening up to do before he arrives. He might be a wee bit irked by the mess."

"That is one way of phrasing it, MacLeod."

Isobel had not heard Nathan approach and groaned. Had Geordie not mentioned the matter, he might have been none the wiser. Geordie, for his own part, was now making a concerted effort to raise himself. He was doing a very poor job of it, as his own legs kept getting in the way.

"Perhaps we should go upstairs and freshen up for luncheon," Isobel suggested. "I am certain Cook could have something ready in a few minutes."

"Oh, I fully intend for us to go upstairs," Nathan said quietly. His words sent delicious shivers down Isobel's back. More loudly, he announced,

"After I see your brothers into a carriage. They can be home by evening."

"Now, Nathan, they did not intend—"

"Oh, we're not leaving," Rob said cheerfully from his spot on the floor.

"Only just arrived, you know. But it's ever so kind of you to offer."

"Robbie,
cuist!"
Isobel cautioned. She really ought to have known better than to bother.

"Very kind, indeed!" Geordie agreed. He had managed to get up and was standing reasonably upright on the other side of the fallen chair. "But there's no need to put yourself out yet. We thought to pass a fortnight or so here in Town."

"A
fortnight!"
Nathan repeated. "You intend to stay here for a fortnight?"

"Aye, or two. We had a bit of a jaw about finding rooms elsewhere, but—" Geordie gestured expansively, nearly clipping Isobel with his flailing hand. "Grand digs you have here, Oriel."

"I am so glad you approve," was the dry response.

Thinking now might be a very good time to avert further disaster, Isobel beckoned her standing brother out from behind the chair. Rob was still doing his best to get up from the floor. There was a tearing sound as he put his heel on the hem of his coat.

"So these are the famous MacLeod brothers!" William strode across the room, hand extended. "I say, what a great pleasure to meet you at last!"

A bemused Rob accepted the hand and, in no time, was on his feet.

William's ostensibly welcoming grasp on his shoulder steadied him enough that he did not go down again. "William Paget," he announced.

"Robert MacLeod."

"Of course. And you are..."

"Georàs MacLeod. Geordie." Geordie was already grinning, having sensed, with unerring MacLeod instinct, an ally and potential playmate.

"Ah, splendid." One arm firmly settled over Rob's tilting shoulders, William turned his own blinding smile toward his brother. "Off with you now, Nat, old man. I am going to get acquainted with Isobel's brothers. I daresay we have a great deal in common and will get on smashingly."

"God help us," Nathan muttered, but he did not protest as Isobel gently led him away from the carnage of his library.

"Thank you,"
she mouthed at Will. He winked and guided Rob toward an intact chair.

"You must let me tell you both about my latest experiment," she heard him say as she and Nathan reached the hall. "You begin with a dash of gunpowder..."

"A fortnight. They intend to stay a fortnight."

Isobel gave her husband's arm an affectionate squeeze. "William will take care of them."

"God help us," he said again, and started up the stairs, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Thank you."

"For what? Not booting them into the street?"

"Aye. I wouldn't have blamed you for hauling them out by their padded coats."

He actually chuckled. "A wise man never gets that close to two drunkards at once."

"Wise, indeed. They'd have just bocked up the brandy all over you."

"Isobel, that is disgusting." But he was grinning. "Bocked,
hmm?
I'll remember that one. I suppose it would be one way of getting some of my liquor supply back. Did they leave anything in the bottles?"

"A bit."

"Well, there's a comfort. At least I know I'll have a bit available when they drive me stark raving mad."

Charmed by this side of her husband, but feeling the need to support her brothers, Isobel said, "They're good lads at heart."

"Made all the better for your defense of them, sweetheart. Have no fear.

I won't cast them out yet, drunk or sober."

"I might," she muttered, and stopped outside his chamber door. "I'll join you downstairs in half an hour, then? We can both have something to eat."

"Still concerned with my mood, are you?"

"Nay. You've improved tremendously."

"Ah, well, then, perhaps luncheon can wait awhile."

She glanced at him curiously. "Are you not hungry?"

"Immensely."

"So why...?"
Her question ended in a breathy gasp as she found herself flat up against his chest.

"I did not have food in mind." His hand was rubbing a very interesting pattern down her back. "Are you hungry?"

Familiar heat was spreading through her limbs. Aye, she'd become wanton indeed. "Immensely. So much that I believe luncheon can wait awhile."

"Ah, Isobel. A wife after my own heart."

Moments later, tangled with him on the massive bed and not quite certain how she had come to be there, Isobel gave fleeting consideration to his words. Was she after his heart? A little piece of it would not be unwelcome. But he was unlikely to give even that, so why distress herself with the possibility....

She stopped thinking altogether when his hand slipped under her skirts to curve around her thigh.

"I believe the months of bannocks and ale will be well worth it," he murmured, "if all of madam's creations are as pleasing as this one. They afford me such delightful access with so little beneath to get in the way."

She could feel the fine wool of his breeches against her bare inner thighs, felt the strength of corded muscle beneath. She slid back a few inches, then forward again, reveling in the textures. "Ah, Nathan." She caught her breath as his fingers unerringly centered and slipped inside her.

"With you so appropriately attired, I feel compelled to keep my promise."

"And what was that?"

"How quickly you have forgotten, my dear. I promised to provide you with an alternative mount."

"Oh, aye, you did." Isobel felt his free hand beneath her, tugging at the placket of his breeches. Her breath caught again as the full splendor of his erection rose boldly. "Nathan, can we... Ah!"

She had her answer as he surged upward, gripping her hips at the same time and pulling her tightly against him. She felt herself stretching, warming, shifting to accommodate him. His breath, in concert with hers, hissed between his teeth.

"Yes. Ah, yes. Dear God, you undo me, Isobel!"

But she was no longer listening. Guided by his hands, she began to move above him, rocking with a rhythm as old as the tide and just as elemental. His hands lifted from her hips then and reached to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples through the soft fabric of her bodice.

"Oh Dia,"
she whispered. As if in answer to a prayer, the glorious warmth caught like a spark, spreading through each flammable inch of her body. Too fast, it was coming, too fast. She wanted to capture each second, savor it, draw it out until she could stand it no longer. But his hand was between her thighs again, his fingers sliding exquisitely and relentlessly inward.

His thumb centered, circled, and she was lost. Gasping, laughing, she went to flame. One after another, the tremors coursed through her, each more splendid than the next till they flowed away.

Nathan writhed beneath her. The hand still gripping her hip tightened, pulled her that scant bit closer than she could have thought possible. Even as the last wave receded within her, he tensed and cried out her name.

Then his hands dropped away. Left without this brace, imagined though its support might have been, Isobel slid bonelessly forward. Her cheek ended up pressed against a coat button, and her first coherent thought was that they were both fully dressed. Her second was that he smelled truly wonderful, potent and wholly male.

She mumbled something to that effect. Her face bounced on his chest when he laughed. "I probably smell like a horse."

" 'Tis part and parcel of a role well played, I suppose, if you do."

Yawning slightly, she rubbed her cheek against the soft wool of his coat. "I can say one thing for you, my lord."

"And what is that, my lady?"

"When you make a promise, you keep it. And grandly." She thought she felt him stiffen, but then his arms folded around her, and she smiled at the comfort of the simple embrace. "I don't suppose I can get you to promise we'll not have to leave this room for the rest of the Season."

There was genuine regret in his voice when he replied, "You cannot imagine what I would give to be able to promise you that."

"I was hardly being serious, Nathan."

"I was."

"Aye, well, we've plenty of time to spend lazing about in bed." She ran one hand along his arm, stopping when her fingers reached a tear in his sleeve. "Whatever did you do to your coat?"

He reached across her to touch the spot. "It must have been a branch. I was trying to keep up with my crack-brained brother."

Isobel leaned up to look. "Quite a branch. I'm surprised it didn't knock you right out of the saddle."

"Ah, a direct blow to my ego. I have been lauded for my splendid seat."

Grinning, she let her hand slide between his hip and the mattress. She gave a firm squeeze. "You may add my commendation to the list."

"I am delighted you approve, my lady. My return compliments." And he squeezed right back.

CHAPTER 17

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceiv'd,

Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,

And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes

And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;

Nor all, that glisters, gold.

—Thomas Gray, Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat

Isobel was in her chamber singing something slow and sweet and, if Nathan's ears did not deceive him, about kisses. Abandoning his hapless attempts to fashion a cravat knot, he crossed his own room and quietly opened the connecting door.

She was at the window, her face turned toward the glass. Nathan thought he could make out the soft curve of her hip beneath green silk. It amazed him how much he had learned to see since she had entered his life, details that might otherwise have been lost to him. He knew the luster of silk in a well-lit room, the ripple of fire as Isobel's hair flowed over her shoulders.