Lady Isabella's Splendid Folly: a Fortune's of Fate story (Fortunes of Fate Book 7)

by Sandra Sookoo

  “All right?” Emotion graveled his voice, but she was too far gone to identify it.

  “Yes.” She wriggled beneath him, and when he moaned, she grinned. It was wonderful and odd, this feeling of being filled by him, having his weight pressing into her body. “Please continue.”

  “You needn’t be so polite,” he said just before he kissed her and began to move within her. “Intercourse is wild, primal, raw. If you feel the need to scream or act anything besides the lady, do it. This night is yours.”

  The sensation of falling came over her, but then everything else was shoved from her mind as she concentrated on him, on them together and what they were doing.

  He taught her how to move each time he thrust into her, and as she clung to his hands, she learned how to cant her hips, meet his every stroke until their bodies glided and rubbed together much like they did during a waltz. The fact the two activities were so closely related wrapped her brain in marvel, but there was no time to linger.

  Faster and faster he pushed. Deep and deeper he plunged. Over and over he thrust, and Isabella lost herself to the primal rhythm that was as old as time itself. She squeezed his fingers, drew up her legs which opened her body further to his ministrations.

  Before she had time to acclimate to the wondrous sensations coursing through her, urgency demanded a cessation to the swirling, stacking need and desire. “I’m going to break, Peregrine. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Let it happen.” He nuzzled her shoulder, licked at her pulse point that fluttered rapidly. “Fall into that release.” Strain wove through his voice. Was he as desperate as she to find bliss?

  Isabella wrapped her legs around his waist, urged him closer with her heels, needing him to give her everything that he was. She bumped her hips against his, tightened her inner muscles, and that apparently drove him over the brink. When she caught his gaze, something inexplicable was exchanged between them, something that took a piece of heart with it.

  With a shout, he thrust ever deeper, quicker and with more authority. The friction inside her and against her still-swollen nubbin sent into bliss, and once again, she shattered and gripped his hands with all of her strength.

  “Oh!” She released his name on the heels of a keening cry while hot, frantic pleasure scooped her up and carried her upward. Starbursts erupted behind her closed eyes while she dissolved into a boneless puddle. With another stroke, Peregrine followed her into release, and the warm jets of his seed shot into her core. The rasp of his breathing blended with her own. He let go of her hands as he collapsed on top of her with a grunt.

  “Damn, you are quite unforgettable,” he murmured against her neck. The slight stubble on his chin rasped over her skin and heightened her already sensitized awareness.

  His obvious admiration had a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Exhausted, she looped her arms about his shoulders and held him close. “You’re not half bad yourself, Captain.”

  Their relationship shifted subtly but moved into a deeper level that left her out to sea. It scared her a little because, along with the scandal, she’d somehow become smitten with all that Peregrine was.

  What do I do now? I don’t want forever.

  He wrapped his arms around her and turned them both onto their sides. “Did you enjoy the introduction to ruination?”

  Isabella snuggled against him, enjoying the singular and unforgettable sensation of being both protected and wanted by a man. “Absolutely, though it went by too quickly to savor.” She kissed his shoulder—the same shoulder bearing the damning tattoo—and sighed. “I wouldn’t say no to another coupling.”

  “Ah, we are going to have such fun together, my lady.” Then he dropped a tender kiss upon her forehead. “Let us make more plans.”

  Plans to continue her splendid folly, but what would she do when she had to leave him at the end of summer?

  Chapter Fourteen

  June 10, 1818

  Peregrine paced in some agitation through his dressing room as Jensen watched him with a length of cravat in each hand.

  “I fear I might be a candidate for Bedlam, my friend.” He shoved a hand through his hair, much to the valet’s displeasure. “The last time things went fast and burned hot between me and a woman, they ended quite horribly, but this time, it feels different.” He shook his head then spun about to look at his former first mate. “It’s insanity, after only a handful of days, man.”

  There is no bloody way anything permanent can come from it.

  Jensen’s chuckle grated on his nerves. “First, calm yourself, Captain. Take a breath.” He held up each cravat, but Peregrine rejected them both, favoring a length of starched linen lying like a snake upon the bureau top.

  As he wound the fabric about his neck, he stared out the window. In an hour, guests would begin arriving at his manor, but all he wanted to do was spirit Isabela away. Hell, he wanted to wake up next to her in the morning—every morning if she’d have him.

  But therein lay the rub.

  Realizing Jensen still stood there, he sighed. “And? What comes after the first of all?”

  “Second, allow me a moment to gloat, for I knew you were in love.” He laughed outright, and Peregrine didn’t have the heart to argue with the logic of it.

  Not that there was any sort of logic involved with love. It just happened when a man least expected it.

  “Do shut up, Jensen.” Again, he contemplated the window but didn’t truly see. His mind jogged, as it always did, to Isabella.

  For the past two days, he’d met the lady for quick trysts—once at the stream and once in a meadow he’d discovered during his morning rides. Beyond that, they had spent the bulk of the days together. He had no idea what she’d told her family to explain her absences, but he was glad of her company. She’d been a quick study in coitus, and her eagerness to engage in such things both amused him and fed his own desire.

  They’d talked of travel and places in the world that appealed to her. He’d regaled her of tales from his naval days, of fighting pirates, of women he’d befriended, of trials he’d survived, and her responses had never failed to provoke admiration. She was the best of all possible audiences, and when she suggested he write down his adventures in book form, he’d scoffed but had been secretly pleased. When talking no longer appealed, he’d read her poetry and she read to him from a Gothic novel she was currently engrossed in.

  And now he balanced between worlds—wanting her forever but knowing she desired her freedom by the first of September.

  Jensen softly cleared his throat, recalling Peregrine to the moment. “You are thinking of her again.”

  “Yes, I cannot help it.” She dominated his thoughts. Every beat of his heart called her name. He swore he could still smell the whiff of her orange blossom perfume wrapping around him like an invisible spirit.

  The valet grinned, and it was a knowing sort of smile that normally would drive Peregrine to pick a fight with him. Today, it only mildly irritated, but not enough to take action. “Perhaps it’s merely lust you feel for the lady. After all, it’s been quite some years since you last had a willing woman in your bed.”

  He snorted. Not that they’d made use of a proper bed yet. “No. Desire and passion are present, of course. Respect and admiration are there, certainly. Pride for who she is without settling or conforming I have definitely.”

  “Tip over tail, you are.” Jensen snickered. “What will you do?”

  “What can I do?” Guilt crept in, tightening his chest and warming his gut. “It’s not right, this skulking about as if what we share is wrong.” He turned about to face Jensen once more. “She and I fit together. I want to know all there is to know of her. Beyond that, I wish everyone to realize she is with me.”

  “Under your protection then?”

  “More than that.” He adjusted the knot on his cravat.

  “Right, because you’ve compromised her, quite thoroughly if your absence has been any indication, and her an earl’s daught
er.”

  “There’s that.” Peregrine couldn’t quell the smug smile curving his lips. The fall into scandal had been nothing short of fantastic. Then his smile turned rueful. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “I suspect that I do.”

  He nodded. “I mean to propose tonight.”

  Jensen stared. “Truly?”

  “For a man who suspected my plans, you seem shocked.” Peregrine chuckled. “Though I suppose it is quite an about face, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” The valet stowed the shunned cravats in a drawer of the wardrobe. “You’ve thought about this?”

  “Yes.” He nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. “It feels right, this wanting—hoping—to spend my life with her. I cannot explain it, for it’s quite different than the last time.” He began to pace once more. “If you allow me a bit of whimsy, I could say I was never truly in love when I married my wife. Perhaps I did it for the sake of having the ideal life.”

  “There is that possibility, of course,” Jensen agreed.

  “But this just… happened without conscious thought, without my pushing for it, without proper planning.” The words of the gypsy came back to him. There is a woman in your future who possesses a fierce spirit. Know her by the flash of gold at her breast, but tread lightly lest she flee. Appearances are often deceiving. Did those appearances extend to Isabella’s secretly wishing to marry if the man were a right fit? And did that future extend to marriage for a lifetime or was it merely for a summer fling?

  Bah, no one could divine events in a person’s life.

  Ah, but Isabella was so much more than a fortune. She was a marvel and a riddle, one he hoped would challenge him for the remainder of his life.

  “The trick will be convincing her to take a chance on me for more than an affair.”

  “I wouldn’t worry, Captain. A man of your intellect and charm can find a way.”

  “Always so supportive.” How maddening, this sudden descent into the insanity of romance. “Damn it, Jenson. I love her. There is nothing else to say.” Bloody hell, it felt good to say it out loud. “And it terrifies me that she might say no after everything.”

  “Feel the fear and do it anyway.” The valet extended a hand. “Then allow me to extend you my best wishes. You and the lady complement each other. It’s my sincere hope you’ll find happiness with her.”

  “Thank you.” Peregrine shook the offered hand. Then he groaned. “I don’t have a ring.”

  “If Lady Isabella is the woman meant for you, she won’t need one.”

  “True.” Yet the worry in his chest did lessen.

  Jensen chuckled. “Let’s finish having you dressed. You’re useless with your head in the clouds, but you ought to at least look like you’re put together.”

  The fête was a success—at least Peregrine thought so, but since he had no idea about such things, he smiled and nodded as guests circulated around him.

  Footmen wandered with champagne, small cakes as well as savory bites on silver trays. Since he wasn’t titled or had old family coin, the spread was simple but honest. The guests seemed pleased with the refreshments offered, so all was well.

  When night finally fell, he declared the dancing portion of the evening opened, and the sounds of the three-piece string orchestra he’d hired struck up a lively country reel.

  Throughout the party, Peregrine followed Isabella’s movements with his gaze. It wouldn’t do to show a familiarity too soon, and in front of the prying eyes of her family, but he couldn’t help wanting to be by her side. She was stunning in lavender silk. Some sort of sheer white fabric overlaid the skirt that featured embroidered shells and swirls. Swaths of it ensconced her bodice, and her hair was once again down, the sides held back with Mother of Pearl combs that gleamed in the raven tresses. His heart squeezed. He’d told her two days ago he adored it that way, and now here she was once more flaunting convention—for him.

  He resisted the urge to press a hand to that finicky organ. Perhaps he would claim his dance with her earlier in the evening, for she’d attracted a cluster of admirers.

  From his vantage point near the terrace doors off the ballroom, he watched her while sipping from a flute of champagne. So full of life, his Isabella, and the way she interacted with the men around her had his chest tight with jealousy. It wasn’t right that she talked with them in apparent ease, when he’d made certain to keep any conversation with members of the opposite sex strictly polite and nothing more. Once he’d known his heart was engaged by her, he hadn’t wished to find himself in anyone else’s company.

  Did she care nothing for him beyond the physical? Marriage, and especially ton marriages, do not appeal to me. Her words bounced about his brain in a relentless loop. Peregrine swallowed the remainder of his champagne and then rested the empty flute on a nearby table. He’d never backed down from an insurmountable challenge before and he didn’t intend to start now, but by God, not while he was alive would she belong to another man. And especially not one of the young bucks buzzing around, no doubt on the request of her parents.

  Squaring his shoulders, Peregrine moved through the ballroom, dodging couples who twirled about on the dance floor, for going through them was the most direct path to his objective, and with every step, his pulse pounded in his temples, reverberated through his chest. The whole course of his life would change after tonight, and he hoped it was for the better.

  Upon reaching the knot of would-be suitors, he pushed at a few shoulders until the group parted and he saw Isabella unobstructed and his breath caught. Damn, it was deuced difficult, this pretending they meant nothing to each other when all he wished to do was sweep her into his arms and claim her as his alone.

  Her eyes lit and a saucy grin curved her kissable lips. “Good evening, Captain St. John. You’ve thrown a lovely party. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “My pleasure.” Peregrine sketched her a half-bow. “And I believe this is our set coming together now.” He extended a hand to her. “Shall we?”

  She slipped her gloved fingers into his and allowed him to extricate her from the pack of young pups, who were all too wrong for someone of her strong will and tart mouth. She’d shred them alive. “And I believe you are a liar,” she whispered as he led her out onto the floor.

  “Consider it rather the host’s prerogative.” He shrugged and couldn’t help a grin. Oh, but it felt wonderful to touch her again, even if it was only for a dance. Easily they both assumed the correct position. It had been a tick over twenty-four hours since he’d seen her, but damn if he hadn’t missed her. From one side of the room, the musicians struck up the first notes of the dance. “It is a waltz, Lady Isabella, and what’s more, it is our waltz.” The song was the very same he’d hummed that night in the maze.

  Her eyes rounded as they moved into the first turn. Admiration sparkled there. “You planned this?”

  “It would be more romantic if I said I did, but this is merely happenstance, coincidence that I am, of course, using to my advantage.” He waggled his eyebrows and tugged her a hint closer. Then he dropped his voice. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Well, I am difficult to forget,” she whispered back, but the hand on his shoulder tightened. Her smile suggested wicked things for his future, however. “When do you expect your party to wind down?” She tilted her chin in that particular way that she had so she could peer up at him through her coal-dark lashes. “Perhaps you and I might arrange a rendezvous?”

  Need shuddered through him to concentrate in his length. He slipped the hand resting on the small of her back downward a fraction of an inch. “I think that can be arranged.” Imperceptibly, he winked. “I adore how eager you are.”

  “And I adore how incredibly satisfied you make me.” She bit her bottom lip. “I discovered a rather naughty and suggestive book of poetry at the book shop this morning, buried under other volumes. Perhaps I shall read you a few passages tonight.”

  Dear God. Heat snuck up the back of hi
s neck. What was he to do with her? She was rather like catching a tiger by the tail, and he enjoyed every second of the chase.

  No more words were exchanged, for the waltz took his full attention, but he did hold her closer than the rules of society dictated. With every step, on each turn, he moved seamlessly with Isabella as if they’d known each other for years. She belonged in his arms, in his life, but what could he offer the daughter of an earl, he, a veteran of the navy with a pension and a wound that nagged at him when it rained?

  When the end of the waltz came and polite clapping broke out through the room, he didn’t want to let her go. “Are you of a mind for some fresh air?”

  “I think that would be lovely, especially if a shadowy corner is involved,” she replied without missing a beat.” So saying, she laid a gloved hand on his arm. “What did you have in mind?”

  “The terrace, of course. Since the night is clear without clouds, the views over the fields is spectacular.” It only took moments to guide her outside and into the June night.

  Shadows beckoned over the wide expanse of the stone terrace. Plants in decorative urns provided an exotic backdrop as well as privacy in all four corners while illumination from the house gave off soft ambience. The drone of voices and music drifted their way, but he ignored it all in favor of guiding her to the far side of the terrace near a grouping of plants.

  “Kiss me, Peregrine,” she commanded in a soft purr that had awareness crawling over his skin as much as her fingers in his cravat.

  “Gladly.” He took her gently into his arms and fit his lips to hers in a brief but tender kiss. The lady frowned when he pulled away. “Now is not the time to kiss you senseless, my dear, and well you know it.” Not at least when their future wasn’t settled.

  But I intend to change that.