Some minutes passed, and then Francis lifted his face from the crook of Isobel’s neck and gazed down at her. Languor filled him, the sense of relaxation that only fulfillment brings flooding him. He ran one finger gently down her neck to her shoulder and then down to her breast, which he cupped in his hand, kissing it softly.
"Mmmm," said Isobel, moving luxuriantly. Her eyes slowly opened and met his. She smiled.
"Welcome back," said Francis.
"That was lovely," she said. "I see now why some women risk so much for this. I had no idea it would be so delightful."
"I have to be glad that I was the first to show you," said Francis. His finger moved hypnotically over her nipple, which responded obligingly.
Isobel flushed slightly. "I thought perhaps if you thought—you might not---"
"Hush. It doesn’t matter. What’s done cannot be taken back, and, truth to tell, I would not want to," said Francis. "You are delightful beyond measure."
"I hope I was satisfactory," said Isobel earnestly. "I know I am unskilled in this area."
He laughed. "You need have no worries, my dear." His tongue traced a trail across her collarbone. "Are you sure you have no doubts? I should have stopped, but you drove me wild with need. I had to have you. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman the way I wanted you today."
"I wanted this—and you," said Isobel. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensations that were building in her again.
"I really think that this time we must have your dress off you," said Francis. Gently he urged her to her feet, and she at first dropped her eyes when she was his naked body, but then curiosity overtook her, and she gazed at him openly. Her eyes widened when she saw his rod was growing hard again,
He saw where she was gazing, and took her hand, placing it on his penis. "There you are, darling. It’s all yours."
While he hastily divested her of her dress, drawing it over her head in one swift motion, Isobel massaged and stroked the object of her immediate interest. She barely noticed that she was quite naked except for her silk stockings, and when Francis wrapped his hands about her waist, she gave a gasp.
"Enough of that," he growled, pushing her back onto the bed and covering her naked body with his own. And then he proceeded to remind Isobel exactly why she had come to to Cavendish Square that day.
Two hours later, the pair stood in the sitting room, Isobel trying to shake the wrinkles from her ruffled skirts. She buttoned her gloves slowly, and peeked up at Lord Francis, hoping he would not observe her. But he was regarding her gravely. He looked so stern she thought in his dark coat, his neckcloth once again surrounding his neck, which she had only recently been kissing.
"Let me help you," he said, and took her hand in his, gently manipulating the tiny buttons. "Do you remember that night at Kitswold, when I helped you remove your gloves? I thought your glare would pierce me through."
"You annoyed me greatly," said Isobel. "I wanted you even then, I suppose, though I did not know it. Today has been very educational."
"Only educational?"
She smiled slowly, and looked at him with a salacious gleam in her eye. "And enjoyable," she murmured.
"Don’t look at me like that, or I’ll have that dress off you again," he said.
She licked her lips. "I must go. Harriet expects me soon. But could we—may I—"
"Do this again?" he provided.
"I would appreciate it if you would oblige me, Lord Francis," she said.
"As a gentleman, I must always oblige a lady," he said. "But I really think that when we are here, you must call me Francis. And I will call you Isobel. Unless you truly prefer to me to call you Miss Paley when I am kissing you."
"Yes, Francis," she said. "When may I come again?"
He laughed at her question, and she colored. "Whenever you please, darling," he said. "Send me a note, and I will meet you. I will not fail."
"See that you don’t," she said roguishly, and was gone, the door closing behind her.
Francis sighed and shook his head, wondering what exactly had happened that afternoon. He’d had the most powerful sexual experience of his life, but Isobel was no courtesan or servant girl; she was a noblewoman, and an unmarried one at that, a well-known arbiter of fashion and sister to a Viscount. The idea had been, he dimly remembered, to convince her to marry him, not to launch an affaire of outsize passion and desire. He shook his head. Somehow, he would have to work his way out of this maze. He grinned as he reflected that, at the very least, he would have an enjoyable time doing that.
Chapter 21
The day after his assignation with Isobel, Lord Francis Wheaton walked up the steps of Strancaster House, following a pleasant lunch at White’s and a stroll down Bond Street. None of the friends he had encountered could have guessed at the inner turmoil that beset him or the fact that, despite his calm demeanor and pleasant conversion, his thoughts were fixed solely on Miss Isobel Paley.
The lady's elusiveness had reached a maddening point. When she had first rejected his suit his pride had been wounded, but when she had proposed an affaire, he had been astounded. It was only his certainty that she would not carry through with the plan that had made him agree to it. He had arrived at their appointment sure that she would either fail to appear or would quickly retreat, and that she would realize that marriage was the best solution to their attraction. Yet somehow, she had not only kept their assignation, but he had been so thoroughly tempted and entranced that he had taken her virginity. And, at the end of it, she had breathed no word of marriage. He was appalled by what he had done, but could not find it within himself to completely regret it. Her response to him had been so sweet and passionate that his primary memory of the afternoon was of incredible delight. More than ever, he was determined to make Miss Paley his.
"Welcome home, my lord," said the butler, swinging the door open.
"Thank you, Crawford," Lord Francis answered as he entered the black and white tiled hall and handed over his hat and gloves. Faint sounds of doors opening and closing drifted down the curving staircase that rose to the upper floors. Lord Francis gave Crawford an inquiring look.
"Viscount and Lady Exencour have just arrived, my lord."
"My brother is here? That’s famous news, Crawford," responded Lord Francis with a smile. "When they are settled tell Exencour he’ll find me in the library."
He repaired to the library, and settled himself in high backed leather chair with a glass of brandy and his persistent thoughts of Isobel. Her behavior mystified him. A female who wished to remain unmarried was a creature barely within Lord Francis’ ability to imagine. A gently bred woman, even one of means, must always marry. Lord Francis didn’t fully share the common belief that women were essentially overgrown children, with limited intellectual capacity, but he was aware that comparative anatomists had established firmly that women were physically inferior to men, and their smaller heads and wider hips fit them only for child rearing. An older unmarried woman was either a source of amusement or, like Miss Harriet, a companion to a relative. Lord Francis could not envision Isobel chaperoning her young nieces, but he was equally certain there was no place in Society for an unwed woman of thirty years of age. An unmarried woman of good ton who had surrendered her virtue to a man, and refused to wed him, was a creature still further beyond comprehension.
The door opened, and Lord Francis snapped out of his reverie and stood as his older brother, Charles Wheaton, Viscount Exencour, entered the room. The two men were similarly tall and fair-haired, but whereas Lord Francis was rangy and muscular, fairly radiating vitality, the Viscount was thin, and slightly stooped, his face prematurely aged by ill health.
Lord Francis strode towards him, clasping his brother’s hand, and then hugging him. "Charles, what a pleasant surprise! I knew you and Claire were planning a visit to London, but had no notion you would be arriving so soon."
"It was a bit of a sudden decision," Charles replied. "Claire is tired of the country, and deci
ded it was time spend a few weeks enjoying the social whirl, and visiting the modistes and milliners."
"I am delighted you are here; we shall have to visit our clubs together, and perhaps we can arrange for a snug card party some evening when Claire feels that she must visit Almack’s. Many of your old friends are in town."
Exencour gave his brother a shrewd glance. "That would be wonderful—if you have time for such frivolities. I have heard, even in the country, of your determined pursuit of Miss Isobel Paley. You didn’t say much about her at Strancaster this Easter, but now I am told that you are considered likely to offer for her. Am I soon to congratulate you? I would feel more comfortable knowing that you were married and preparing to set up your nursery."
"Nonsense Charles, you are certainly not so ill of health as to be worrying about that," Francis replied.
"Not yet," said the Viscount. "But I am certain at this point that I will not provide Strancaster with another heir. That duty must fall to you. So, I have a great deal of interest in your Miss Paley."
Lord Francis mentally reviewed his acquaintance with Isobel, which seemed to be growing more confusing by the day. How could he explain to his brother what it was about her that so intrigued him? " I must confess that her beauty was undeniably the original source of my attraction," he replied lightly. "But there are many other beautiful girls in London this Season. She is an heiress, but there are other wealthy girls also, some of them beautiful as well."
"Beauty and a respectable portion are certainly desirable in a bride," Charles responded. "I hear that she is not a very young lady, and has had several Seasons."
"No, she is not young, but three-and-twenty, I believe. However, a miss straight from the schoolroom would not do for me. I am already bored of dancing with them, and none of them are well educated. How could a man tolerate such prattling for decades? No, Miss Paley’s lively wit and independent turn of mind are among the things that attract me sufficiently to contemplate marriage."
"Why will she not have you then? You are certainly not ill favored, will never want for the means to support a wife, and though you don’t wish to hear it, you will almost certainly succeed to our father’s title."
Francis grimaced and shook his head. "I do not know. I believe that she is attracted to me, just as I am to her. We’ve had many lively conversations, and she seems to be comfortable sharing her opinions with me. She has a delightful sense of humor, and is interested, as I am, in politics and diplomacy."
Though he didn’t mention it to Lord Exencour, Francis also reflected that he and Isobel appeared to be remarkably compatible in other ways. Once again her remembered the way her passion had risen to meet his, and he felt an unfortunate stirring in his groin. He hastily continued. "But when I consider all of our meetings, it is true that she has consistently avoided any effort I might make to declare myself. "
"Well it is very mysterious, Francis, for no one could possibly doubt that you are a very eligible parti. There must be some reason behind her reluctance; think about it, and perhaps a clue will come to you."
"Perhaps," replied Francis doubtfully. "But come, you are just arrived, I want to hear more of the doings at Strancaster. Did you leave our mother well?"
The talk turned to other topics, and the subject was forgotten, but the next day, as he strolled down Oxford Street, Charles’ words returned to Lord Francis, and he found himself thinking back to the night at Kitswold when Isobel’s brother and his wife had joined them for dinner. She had definitely tried to discourage him then, while his flirting with her when he left Kitswold had received an arctic response. A shred of a memory teased at the edge of his mind. There was something there, something which eluded him, but he felt sure it held the key to the mystery. Something involving Viscount Wereham, and Harriet too, he fancied. He stared blindly into a shop window, and sought to recall the circumstances of the dinner party at Kitswold House when he had met Frederick. Then Viscount Wereham’s smug voice resonated in his mind.
"’T’is no more uninteresting than those everlasting diggings of yours," the earl had said. Lord Francis also recalled Isobel clutching a pile of papers to her breast as he entered her library at Kitswold. There was something there he thought, walking on, but not enough. Even as he reflected upon this, his attention was drawn to a man gazing in the window of a bookseller. He was astonished to recognize Alexander Paley, Isobel's scholarly cousin. Lord Francis had some acquaintance with him, the two men having shared an interest in Greek history during their time at Oxford, as well as some riotous evenings about town, and thus approached him with alacrity.
"Alexander," he said with pleasure. "It has been many a year, I know, since you have ventured to London. Have you given up your books in pursuit of a life of gaiety?"
Alexander Paley smiled at this pleasantry and shook Lord Francis' hand. "What a foolish question, Francis. Better you should give up your life of frivolity and indulge in more study. I have always regretted your choice to enter the army, rather than develop your mind. You had such promise as a scholar."
"Promise not fulfilled, alack, and I fear that I shall never pick up those threads. But I do hope to pursue diplomacy or politics, which, while not as worthy as your studies, can perhaps aid our existence in some way."
"A noble aim, Francis. And how have you been these past years?"
"My time on the Peninsula was enlightening, if not always enjoyable. I am glad to see peaceful England and I am also pleased to see English ladies. Indeed, I have become acquainted with a cousin of yours, Miss Isobel Paley."
"Have you? Isobel is one of my favorite relations; she is a woman of sterling qualities," observed Mr. Paley. "How came you to meet her?"
Lord Francis laughed. "I overturned my curricle in the road outside Kitswold, causing myself considerable injury, and she was perforce required to nurse me back to health. She was an excellent physician, and her company greatly helped my recovery."
"Isobel is a woman of numerous accomplishments," said Alexander. "Nursing is but one of them."
"Indeed," said Lord Francis, privately recalling her most recent endeavors. "From her I also learned of your new interest in Scottish antiquities. I had thought you confined your studies to the Grecian era."
"My interest in Scottish antiquities?" said Mr. Paley, seemingly bewildered. "It is not I--" he stopped abruptly.
Lord Francis eyed him closely, his suspicions aroused. "Miss Paley was making a fair copy of your latest paper for the Society of Antiquaries, and I saw some pages; they were clearly on the ruins near Balldendargan. She was quite annoyed with me for discovering her at work, but I can only admire her for aiding you in this way. Surely I am not mistaken?"
"No, no, you are not mistaken at all," said Mr. Paley hurriedly. "I was merely surprised that you should have heard of my interest in Scottish antiquities. I have done only a little work on the subject. As you said, I specialize in the Greek period."
"I am sorry if I have intruded where you did not wish me to. Rest assured, Miss Paley did not willingly give away your secret; I am afraid I surprised her at her work. But surely this interest of yours will not remain a secret for long? If the paper is to be presented to the Society, soon all will know of it. I am most interested in perusing it, myself," said Lord Francis. Something in Alexander's demeanor was urging him to pursue the topic of this paper.
Mr. Paley looked uncomfortable. "I will be presenting the paper at the next meeting, of course," he said. "However, I will do so under a pseudonym. I intend to list the author as Marcus Paley, an invalid who does not leave his home. I have written papers under the name for some years now."
"Whatever for?" asked Lord Francis, truly curious now. "You are so well known for your scholarly works; surely many would be glad to know you have turned your attention to our own Isles."
"Merely a whim," said Mr. Paley. "I fear that my change in focus may cause others think I am merely toying with my Scottish studies. I do believe this work is important, and so I prefer to presen
t this information under another name."
This explanation seemed odd to Lord Francis, but he felt it would be impolite to press the matter. "Well, Alexander, if you must resort to false names, then you must. But it seems I should follow the career of Marcus Paley more closely, now that I am aware of his existence."
Mr. Paley fidgeted uncomfortably. "There is no need for that, Francis. I am sure you have many other interests, and my work on the Grecian islands is more in your sphere of knowledge."
"But knowledge can always be expanded. Perhaps I shall become a great devotee of Scottish antiquities. Come, dear fellow, you must stroll with me; we have much to catch up on."
As the gentlemen turned their feet down Bond Street and their conversation to other topics, Lord Francis made a mental note to check on the activities of one Marcus Paley.
Lord Francis would have been interested to know that immediately after leaving his lordship’s company, Alexander Paley’s footsteps led him to Clarges Street, where he presented himself at the home of Miss Isobel Paley. Pierce ushered him into the morning room, where Isobel sat reading, her beautiful profile turned to the door. She turned, and her face lit up at the sight of her cousin.
"Alexander, my dear, how good to see you," she said, rising to her feet and coming towards him, her hands outstretched. "What are you doing in London?"
Alexander took both her hands in his, and raised one to his lips. "You look charming, Isobel. Although I have no idea why I tell you that, for you are surely aware of the picture you present."
"That is why I love you, Cousin, I can always count on you to bring me back down to earth. My head has been quite turned by the compliments of the London gentlemen; it takes a scholar to point out to me how meaningless they are." Isobel beamed at Alexander. "You have no notion how delighted I am to see you. Can you stay a bit? Have you seen the Frieze of Bassae? I spent the better part of an afternoon sketching it."
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 17
