Tiger's Eye (37 page)

“This calls for a different type of approach,” he said after a minute. “Surely you cannot be shy of me still, Isabella?”

“It depends.”

That wary response surprised a smile out of him.

“Canny, aren’t you, my girl? But you’ve no need to be shy of me after bedding me twice, and pretty hotly too. The way I see it, you’re eager to learn but a little uncertain of what you’re about. And green as grass. The first thing you’ve got to understand is that tumbling about in bed with a man is fun. Let me teach you that, Isabella. Let me teach you how good it can be between a man and a woman.”

She moistened her lips with her tongue. He was seducing her again, with words alone, without even touching her. And she … was she willing to be seduced?

“I won’t do … anything indecent. Like … like …”

Her voice trailed off as she found herself at a loss to describe what she suspected he had been meaning to do to her.

This time he laughed outright. “Oh, Isabella, you are a delight! Do you know, this is as new for me as it is for you? I’ve never had a virgin, or anything approaching one. My previous bedmates have been at least as experienced as I, if not more so. So you see, we can learn together.”

Her wariness increased when he sat down on the end of the bed, pulled off his boots, and then, barefoot, stood and held out his hand to her.

“Come on.”

“Where to?”

“Nowhere. Right here.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Just trust me, will you please? I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Anytime you want, you can tell me to stop. And I’ll stop. I give you my word.”

Isabella looked at him for a moment, hesitating. Then she held out her hand, and let him pull her from the bed. With both of them barefoot, facing each other, linked by their clasped hands, he stood at least a foot above her. It struck her for the first time how tall he was. Next to Paddy, as she was used to seeing him, he looked no taller than the average, but she herself was a little above average height, and the top of her head did not even reach his chin. The very handsomeness of his face tended to blind one to the sheer muscular power of his body, but standing so close to him, Isabella was totally aware of how helpless she would be against him if he should choose to exert his strength against her. But this was Alec, whom she had grown to rely on more than anyone in the world. He had given his word to stop anytime she chose to call a halt.

“What do you want me to do?” she said low.

He smiled, then reached out and caught her other hand to pull her closer.

“Let’s do it properly this time,” he said in a husky voice that was scarcely above a whisper. “Let’s have this thing off you.”

He let go of her, and reached for the hem of her chemise. Though she knew it was foolish, knew he’d already seen all there was to see of her that night in the Carousel, she panicked suddenly at the idea of standing naked before him, washed in gold by the dying fire, her body revealed to his eyes with no secrets left to her. Swallowing, she shook her head.

Immediately he withdrew his hands. “All right then. How about if you undress me?”

Catching her hands, he placed them against his chest. Isabella was conscious of the heat and strength of that chest, of how she had caressed and kissed it not an hour ago.

She took a step closer, so that little space separated their bodies. The warmth of him, the smell of him, enticed her. His hands were at his sides now, as he waited, quiescent, for what she would do.

Earlier, he had talked of making love naked. Isabella realized that the very idea of Alec naked made her throat go dry.

Without a word she slid her hands beneath the sides of his shirt and slipped it from his shoulders. It fell to the floor at his feet. Then, as his eyes darkened, her hands slid from his shoulders over his chest and belly to the waistband of his breeches. The buttons were still open, and it was no great task to push the breeches down his hips to his thighs. His manhood sprang free, huge and ready, and he sucked in his breath as it did. Still he made no move to touch her, just stood there as she tugged the breeches down his thighs until he could step out of them and kick them aside.

She straightened, her eyes flickering over him, touching him everywhere, drinking in the sheer physical perfection of him. His shoulders were wide, his hips narrow. His legs were long and corded with muscle. From the evidence between them, he was once again eager to push her on her back and pump out his lust, but he was as good as his word. He let her look, just look, and made no move to touch her.

His very willingness to let her take the lead, to let her learn about his body without interference, excited her. She reached out, touched him gently, her finger just brushing that enormous man-part of him. He groaned, and jerked as if she had hurt him, but still he made no move to grab her.

Isabella made a decision. She would trust him, trust him to teach her about his body and her own. From him, she would hold nothing back.

As he watched her, his eyes blazing hotter than the fire, she reached down, caught the hem of her chemise, and drew it over her head.

“Teach me, Alec,” she said simply, and threw the garment on the floor beside the fire.

LI

I
t was dawn before they fell into an exhausted sleep. When Isabella awoke hours later, it was to find that the curtains had been opened to permit sunlight to blaze into the room, and the ashes had been swept from the hearth. Apparently the maid whose daily tasks included these duties had seen no reason not to perform them just because her master was still abed, and with his female houseguest yet. At the thought of anyone, even a maidservant, seeing her lying in Alec’s arms, Isabella felt a surge of shame. But then, she told herself, such was the lot of mistresses.

A mistress. By her actions last night she had taken on that role. The first time, in the Carousel, she might have excused herself on the grounds that she had lost her head. But last night … last night she had been willing, nay, eager, to lie with Alec. Eager to make love with him until they were both too sated to do anything more than fall into a stuporous sleep. The unaccustomed amount of wine she had consumed might serve as a convenient excuse for her behavior, but Isabella knew the truth: she had done nothing she had not desperately wanted to do.

The bedroom door was closed. Isabella made sure of that, then sat up. The sheet fell about her waist, but she made no move to cover herself with it. Alec was asleep, and except for him, she was alone. Besides, she supposed that covering herself in front of Alec was now a waste of time.

Mistresses certainly could not be modest.

He was lying on his back, one arm flung up above his head, the other hidden beneath the rumpled pile of bedclothes. His mouth was open, his jaw was dark with stubble, his hair was wildly tousled. By all rights, looking at him on this, the morning after, should have repulsed her.

But it didn’t. Her eyes moved over him assessingly. Even ungracefully asleep, the man was breathtaking. Some master hand had carved each feature and, putting them together, formed a flawlessly handsome whole. Had he been less than the man he was, his face could only have been a drawback in the world from which he had sprung.

Like herself, he was naked. The coverings came midway up his chest, but his broad shoulders and the upper part of his chest were bare above them. Dark hair with just a tinge of gold tufted under his upraised arm. The hair on his chest was a shade or so lighter.

His shoulders were heavy with muscle. From intimate experience Isabella knew that the rest of him was equally powerful. Had they been wed, she would have felt a swelling of pride every time she looked at him, to know that this gorgeous man was hers.

But they were not wed.

She had not been raised to find herself as a man’s mistress. Any man’s, be he lord or commoner. Her mother had been a devout churchgoer, a woman of unshakable principles. Although she had died before Isabella had been more than half-grown, her influence on her only child had been strong. And Pressy, dear Pressy. How horrified her faithful governess would be if she could know to what depths her charge had sunk.

Pressy, raised in the Church of Rome, would be sure that Isabella was destined for eternal hell-fire. Adultery was a mortal sin, after all. If she could see her charge now, Pressy would be saying fervent prayers for Isabella’s soul.

Restless, Isabella got out of bed, found her chemise on the floor, and put it on. Her petticoat was in one piece. She put that on, too. Then she pulled the ruined dress over her head, picked up the remainder of her garments, and took herself back to her own chamber to wash and dress for the day.

She did not spare Alec so much as a single look as she let herself out the bedroom door.

Later, disdaining breakfast, she went out to walk in the rose gardens at the back of the house, and ended up wandering down to the pavilion that overlooked the lake. It was in that pavilion, seated pensively on the stone bench, that Alec at last found her.

She was dressed in lavender. The gentle shade made her skin look very white, and her hair a color softer than gold, but brighter than brown. Her face was turned away from him as he approached along the path from the house. As she stared out over the small ornamental lake at the back of the property, her expression was almost sad.

“Isabella.”

She turned to look at him then, smiling faintly. Was it his imagination or did the smile not reach her eyes?

“Good morning, Alec.” Her voice was very composed, remote even. He looked at her more closely. Was she angry at him?

It surprised him to discover that he, who had faced bullets and knives and violent men and angry women by the score over the course of his life, should be made so ill at ease by one slender chit.

“Have you breakfasted?” The prosaic was the only way he could think to approach her.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t hungry.” Then her eyes left his face to travel out over the lake once more.

He was left staring at the elegant curve of her back, the long white stem of her neck, the soft roll of hair at her nape. Of her face he could see only the curve of one pale cheek, and the dainty outline of her nose and chin.

Suddenly he was conscious of a dull, thudding pain in the region of his heart.

“Isabella.” He gave up trying to pretend that everything was as usual and came around to sit on the bench beside her. “Do you regret last night?”

She looked at him then, her lovely eyes widening as though she was surprised at the question. Her hair formed a nimbus as soft-looking as a cloud around her face. Her expression was serene. That luscious mouth which she considered a fatal flaw and he thought was too erotic to look at without kissing was curved in a faint smile.

“Do I regret last night?” she repeated musingly. “Do I regret behaving like a wanton and coming into your bed though I have no business whatsoever there? Do I regret violating my marriage vows and my own honor? Do I regret the wicked things I did?”

He went very still then, his eyes on her face, feeling himself vulnerable as he had never been before. He was sore afraid she was sorry.

“No,” she said softly. “If I could relive the evening again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one thing.”

Speechless for what must have been the first time in his life, he picked up her hand and carried it to his lips.

“Isabella.” His voice was hoarse. “Isabella.”

“I’m in love with you, you know. I never meant it to happen, but it has.”

Unable to speak, he kissed her hand again, laid it against the side of his face. Her fingers were very cool against his skin. His eyes met hers, and he tried to speak but couldn’t. A scratchy dryness in his throat threatened to unman him. Never in his life had anything affected him like her sweet voice speaking of loving him.

She went on. “You needn’t look so worried. There’s no future for me with you, and I know it as well as you do. You don’t have to try to pretend otherwise. It’s funny, though. I wouldn’t be your mistress for a home, or security, but I’ll do it for love.”

Love. The word was like a sword piercing his heart. He kissed the palm of the hand that rested against his cheek, and held it.

“What do you mean, you don’t have a future with me?” If his voice was rough, he considered himself lucky to be able to talk at all. For the first time since he was a tiny lad lost in a frightening world, he felt the sting of tears at the backs of his eyes. She was so brave, and so beautiful, and so gallant, and his heart ached with wanting to keep her safe beside him forever.

“You’ve as much a future with me as you want to have. Do you think I don’t have a care for you? Hell, I would wed you tomorrow if I could.” His lips were as dry as his throat. He moistened them, and looked at her with a humility as foreign to him as the tears burning the backs of his eyes. That she should love him … He had never expected that.

“You would … marry me?” Her eyes searched his face. Her hand quivered in his. “You needn’t try to make things easy for me, you know. I’m perfectly prepared to be your mistress for as long as you want me. You needn’t make pretty speeches that you don’t mean.”

He smiled then, crookedly, as the aching in his throat eased. “I never make pretty speeches I don’t mean. At least, not to you. I love you, Isabella, and I’ve never in my life said that nor wanted to say it to another human being. So how’s that for a pretty speech?”

The crooked smile went even more crooked as her eyes met his. Her lips trembled. Her fingers curled around the hand that held hers.

“Do you mean it? Really, truly?” she asked low.

“Aye, I mean it,” he said gruffly, and took her in his arms.

LII

T
hey had a week. A single, glorious week. All thought of shame, and sin, Isabella banished from her mind. She loved, and was loved in return.

Never in her life had she expected to experience such happiness.

The daylight hours were spent in a golden glow of bliss, walking around the estate, continuing Alec’s riding lessons that were tenderly hilarious now, playing at cards or some other game. But after dinner—which was served early on Alec’s orders—they retired to his room, together. And in his room, in his bed, Isabella awakened to what it truly meant to be a woman in love.