The Duke's Reform Page 4

  During the afternoon she walked at his side smiling and speaking naturally to his people. He glanced down at his lovely bride. He had chosen well, she was the perfect chatelaine for his home. She wasn’t Eleanor— she was irreplaceable. Isobel was beautiful, biddable and eminently beddable and this would have to do. He hardened at the thought of what awaited him the following night.

  'My love, you haven’t eaten anything, you’ll be faint with hunger if you don't take a little.'

  'My lord, I dare not risk eating in public. I could be spoken to when I had my mouth full, or dribble something down my gown. I shall make up for it to night at dinner, but I am touched by your concern.'

  By five o'clock his guests were departing and he led Isobel back inside and drew her into a small ante-room and closed the door behind them. 'Darling, you have acquitted yourself well. I believe you to be a firm favourite with my tenants already.'

  'You have so many in your employ that I fear I shall never learn all their names.'

  'Good God! Don't even attempt it, they know who you are and that's all that matters. Leave

  such things to the estate manager, the butler and housekeeper— that's what I pay them for.'

  A slight frown marred the perfection of her brow. Surely she was not going to disagree? Then she smiled and he relaxed. He reached out to gather her close, to enjoy her lips and feel the softness of her breasts against his chest. To his astonishment she skipped sideways and was at the door before he could react.

  'Forgive me, my lord, but I've to go to my apartment to change for dinner.'

  He was tempted to call her back, but refrained. She was right; there was barely an hour before

  they must all be down in their finery. He was waiting by the open doors of the grand-salon, his eyes straying constantly to the staircase hoping Isobel would not be much longer.

  His other guests had abandoned their attempts to engage him in conversation and were grouped further down the room sipping champagne and sherry wine. She was tardy. His lips curved as he recalled their first ride together when she had assured him he was never late for any appointment.

  Then she appeared at the head of the stairs dressed in a confection of silver and gold and floated towards him. His breath stopped in his throat and he gripped the stem of his glass. It snapped, spilling the contents down his pantaloons; he ignored the sharp pain as something embedded itself in his palm.

  'My lord, you have cut yourself. Quickly, we must find a cloth to stem the flow of blood.' The concern on her face touched his heart. His butler, Foster, was beside him and offered her a clean white square. She smiled her thanks before turning back to him.

  'Here, let me do it for you.' She examined his hand, dabbing at the cut with the cloth. 'It isn't as bad as I feared. There, I’ve removed the glass. We can bind it and then you’ll be almost as good as new.'

  He wanted to snatch his hand back. Her touch was sending signals to his brain and he would be in an embarrassing position very soon. These damn pantaloons would reveal his arousal— he must remove himself immediately. 'Go in and entertain our guests, sweetheart, I can take care of this. I don't wish to mar the perfection of your outfit with my gore.'

  'I should not care if you did. However, as I’ve no idea where your bandages are kept, I shall do as you ask.'

  When he returned she was engrossed in a lively conversation with her young cousins. He was apart from them, was of a different generation, almost old enough to be the parent. Was he too old to be her husband? She was little more than a schoolroom miss and he a man of five and thirty— would such a disparity of age and experience be a hindrance or a help?

  Despite her promise to eat heartily he noticed she scarcely swallowed a mouthful, pushing the food around her plate in order to make it look as though she'd eaten. Something was worrying her; they had dined together many times and she'd always eaten well. Occasionally she glanced his way and he tried to reassure her with a smile. There was something seriously amiss and he believed he finally understood.

  ****

  Mary received a large, flat, velvet box that had just been delivered to the bedchamber by the duke's man. 'There's a note here, my lady. Shall I put it on the desk?'

  Isobel had been fidgeting with her easel and looked across. 'No, let me see what he’s sent. It's after eleven o'clock— how could Rochester know I was still awake?' Her abigail brought the items over. Isobel broke the seal on the paper and the bold black handwriting leapt out at her. It would seem the box contained something that had to be worn at the wedding ceremony.

  She opened the lid and gazed in awe at the fabulous circlet. 'I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. This must be an ancient heirloom. See, Mary, how the golden leaves have been constructed and the centres of the flowers are topaz, or perhaps amber.'

  'If you're to wear that tomorrow, my lady, you'll have to have your hair loose, it won't fit over an elaborate arrangement.'

  Isobel shrugged. 'You can braid the front and leave the back hanging free. I wondered why the duke had insisted my gown should be gold. I shall feel like a wood nymph with my floating draperies and this exquisite object on my head.'

  She replaced the jewel in the box and returned to her task. She heard Mary sigh behind her. She was being unfair keeping her maid so late. 'I shall retire now. I can't make this wretched thing stand straight, but I doubt I shall have much time to paint in the immediate future, so it can wait.'

  No sooner had her abigail departed than Isobel threw back the covers and got out of bed. She would not be able to sleep so might as well find a novel to read and sit in front of the fire until she was too tired to keep her eyes open. Being in a huge bed turned her thoughts to something she was trying to forget, what she would have to endure in either this bed, or the one next door, in a few short hours.

  She left one candle burning on the mantelshelf and curled up in a comfortable chair, tucking her feet beneath her nightgown and bed robe. She attempted to immerse herself in her gothic romance. She was almost asleep, the candle burnt out, the only light from the fire, when the communicating door between her room and his began to move.

  Her eyes flew open. She shrunk back against the seat. Please God, not now, let me have one more night before I've to suffer. He edged into the room carrying an enormous tray from which appetizing aromas floated.

  'Stay where you are, little one, I shall put this down and fetch the rest.' He placed the tray on the carpet in front of the fire and quickly lit two candlesticks. With no more than a friendly smile he vanished back from whence he came.

  How extraordinary! The sight of all the food made her mouth water. She had not eaten for more than twenty four hours and her stomach gurgled. Surely there could not be more food coming? There was enough on that one tray to feed a dozen people.

  He reappeared with a second tray upon which was a silver jug and two silver goblets, plus a second jug of lemonade. 'I thought we could share a loving cup, sweetheart, but not until you have eaten. Mulled wine on an empty stomach would make you feel decidedly unwell.'

  'I love mulled wine; we always have it at Christmas.' Forgetting she was in her nightwear, not even slippers on her feet, she knelt down and pushed the poker into the centre of the blaze. 'This will soon heat up. I should like some lemonade to be going on with. Shall I help myself to food?'

  He waved her back to her chair, his expression tender. 'This is my surprise, allow me to be your servant tonight.'

  She devoured a substantial portion of the laden tray before she was replete. 'I feel so much better now. I'm relieved that you joined me in this midnight feast. Can I have some wine now?'

  His chuckle made her feel even more relaxed. He was different, his austerity and coldness gone. In the intimacy of her bedchamber he had become the man she'd dreamed about. The sweet smell of spices filled the room as he plunged the poker into the jug. He filled both goblets then handed one to her, raising the other in salute.

  'To us, my love. May the rest of our lives be spent i
n happiness and harmony.'

  'To us.' She swallowed and the delicious concoction filled her with warmth and a strange excitement. That odd darkness she'd observed before was apparent in his eyes. Hastily she broke the connection and drank some more mulled wine, then the vessel was pried from her fingers.

  'Enough, Isobel, you're not used to alcohol. Come and sit with me, there are matters I need to discuss with you.'

  Not waiting for her to move he scooped her up and, before she could protest, she was resting in his lap. It was pleasant to be held— she had not felt the protection of another's arms since the nursery. She closed her eyes and didn't flinch when his arms encircled her.

  'Would you do something for me?'

  Sleepily she gazed up at him; his smile made something most peculiar curl through her nether regions. 'What is it you want, my lord?'

  'Firstly, when we are alone, I wish you to use my given name— Alexander. I shall call you Isobel.' This did not seem unreasonable. She nodded andclosed her eyes again. 'Secondly, sweetheart, allow me to release your hair. Ever since I saw you waiting in the line at your ball I've dreamt of running my fingers through it. I insist you must never have it cut short whatever the prevailing fashions might dictate.'

  She was too fatigued to protest. She raised her head allowing him access to her braid; if he wished to see it loose then he must release it himself. His fingers were deft, seconds later she was enveloped in her hair. He gently propelled her forwards and began to draw his fingers through her locks from temples to neck.

  Why should such a simple thing be sending shockwaves up and down her spine? An unusual restlessness was building in the very core of her being. Something made her wish to twist in his arms so that she could see his face and when she did so there was that familiar hardness pressing against her bottom. Instantly her fear returned and she tried to scramble from his lap.

  'Darling girl, you must not be scared of me. Whatever you have been told about what takes place between a man and a woman has obviously frightened you. I promise you I would never hurt you. It’s my duty to protect and care for you for the rest of your life.'

  His words were soothing— his hands were stroking her hair, her face, her shoulders, easing out the tension and the fear. She couldn't tell him why she was afraid, but he would not lie to her— she trusted him. His fingers buried themselves in the hair and tilted her head. His lips brushed hers sending spirals of pleasure around her overheated limbs.

  'Trust me, darling, let me show you what it is to be loved. There's nothing to fear, what we're doing is a natural thing for a man and a woman are meant to be conjoined in this way.'

  Her arms encircled his neck. She wished to have his lips pressing on hers, for his hands to continue to work their power, stroking and caressing her shoulders and neck. His mouth engulfed hers. His tongue demanded entry and her lips parted to let him in. She was lost in a place she hadn't known existed, her body no longer her own.

  When he stood, holding her close, and moved smoothly towards the bed, she made no protest. Gently he slid her down his chest until her bare feet were on the carpet.

  'I can't make love to you until you're free of these unnecessary items.'

  She was mesmerized— could not have moved even if the house had caught fire. The ribbons at the neck of her garments were untied. He pushed the cotton over her shoulders and she was naked before him. Every inch of her was burning. Her breasts tingled and she wanted something from him but was not sure what it was.

  Her legs gave way and she fell backwards onto the sheets. With one swift movement he tore off his bed-robe and stood before her as naked as she. Her eyes widened, she had not expected this. Before she could prevent it her glance dropped to his stomach— what she saw doused her flames as effectively as a bucket of cold water. Her fears returned and she rolled away attempting to hide herself in the covers.

  She cringed from him but he gathered her close and kissed her softly. His hand moved from her face, down to her breast, caressing and smoothing, and the heat inside her returned. His lips trailed fire from her neck to her breast. His tongue circled her nipple sending spirals of pleasure from head to toe. As his mouth turned to give the same attention to her other breast his fingers traced the outline of her stomach and slid between her thighs.

  She gasped in shock as they entered her most private place and began a magical dance that left her writhing in pleasure. She pressed against his hand wanting more, something else— she was burning up and only he could quench the fire. He rolled on top of her and gently nudged her legs apart then she forgot her fears as his mouth covered hers.

  As he plunged his tongue inside he raised his hips and drove forward. Somehow her body

  accommodated him. There was a sharp pain and she stiffened. He paused and when she relaxed he continued his thrusting. An exquisite pressure, that was almost pain, centred on the place they were conjoined. With each surge she rose to meet him. She found release as waves of ecstasy engulfed her. She cried out his name— seconds later he groaned and expelled his seed inside her.

  Still intimately linked he crushed her close and rolled sideways taking her with him. She

  couldn't speak, could scarcely breathe. How could she have been afraid of something so

  amazing?

  'My darling, I hope I didn't hurt you. It is always so the first time.'

  'The small pain was worth it, my love. I had never imagined anything so wonderful could take place between us. I can't understand why Mama and Aunt Laura didn't tell me how it would be.'

  He laughed and smoothed back her hair. 'They did not tell you, sweetheart, because not

  everyone experiences what you did.'

  Surprised and intrigued by his answer she tried to wriggle away from him in order to

  converse in a more seemly way. His arm around her hips prevented her. 'Surely the process is the same for everyone?' His answer was to kiss her. She responded willingly and forgot all about her question.

  Chapter Five

  When Isobel woke she was alone, the trays had vanished and she might almost have thought she'd imagined the whole thing apart from a delicious ache between her legs which told her she was no longer a girl—but a woman.

  Today was her wedding day, she had never been so happy in her whole life. To be marrying the man she loved, who had shown her by his actions last night that he felt the same way, was something to celebrate.

  The sound of water being poured into her bath meant it was already late. Where was Mary? It was usual for her abigail to be there with her morning chocolate long before this. Isobel leapt out of bed shocked to see the tell-tale blood stain on the sheets. She had pre-empted her wedding night, her relatives would be scandalized, but she didn't care.

  Alexander had come to her because he knew how scared she was. By making love to her last night he’d demonstrated his care for her. She was the luckiest girl in England, and in two short hours she would be his wife— nothing could spoil her joy in the day.

  Impatiently she rang the bell that stood beside the bed. Mary could remove the evidence and keep it out of sight until tomorrow; with luck her secret would remain just that. The dressing room door opened and a strange young woman came in. She had pinched features and sharp knowing eyes.

  'You rang, my lady? I've your bath ready; his grace said you would not be requiring breakfast this morning.'

  'Where is my abigail? I don't wish to be attended by strangers this morning.'

  The woman curtsied stiffly, her lips curled but the smile did not reach her eyes. 'Watkins left here first thing with the luggage. I'm now your personal maid. His grace appointed me himself to take care of you in future.'

  Isobel turned away too upset to remonstrate with this supercilious intruder. Had everything they'd shared last night meant nothing? The man she thought Alexander to be would not have dismissed Mary without speaking to her first. He had sent away the only familiar face in this barracks of a building. She was to be alone with him and was n
o longer sure of his feelings.

  In frosty silence she allowed this unwanted woman to help her dress. Her joy in the day had gone. She couldn't bear to think Mary thought this was her decision. This would mean Mary's husband Sam, who was her personal groom, would have gone as well.

  As soon as the last pin was pushed into her hair she stalked from the room and along the wide passageway. She could hear the church bells ringing. Newcomb had its own place of worship in the grounds and she was to be married there.

  Her parents were waiting for her in the vast entrance hall. There was no sign of her other relatives. Their presence would have alleviated the tension, lifted her spirits just a little. 'Mama, Papa, did you know Rochester has dismissed Mary? She's gone without even the opportunity to say goodbye, and after all she's been to me these past years.'

  'Isobel, we had no idea she was not to remain here. These things are no longer under our control; you must abide by your husband's decisions in future. I'm sure you'll soon come to appreciate the superior woman he has appointed for you.'

  ‘I haven’t bothered to ask her name for she's a stiff and unpleasant person, I shall insist that she is dismissed, but not today. In a week or two I shall ask my husband to reinstate Mary and Sam as a favour to me.'

  Her father scowled at her as if she had no right to criticise the man who'd given him a fortune in exchange for his daughter. 'I wish to hear no more of your complaints, miss. You’re tardy and Rochester has been awaiting your appearance in the church for five minutes already.'

  He offered his arm and she had no recourse but to take it. Before she had time to think she was being marched firmly down the aisle and was standing beside her future husband. She felt a wave of despair when he turned to glance at her. This was not the Alexander who had made love to her so passionately— this was the autocratic man she'd hoped never to see again.

  Somehow she mumbled through her vows, smiled bravely during the wedding breakfast and far too soon was at his side to wave her parents and relatives away. Without thinking she turned to him imploringly. 'My lord, I shall miss my family sorely. May I invite them to stay later in the year?'