A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance

by Alicia Quigley

  Isobel looked up at him, an inviting smile now on her lips. “Oh, I have missed this,” she breathed.

  “I thought you might have,” he answered. “Now you know why I came to Scotland.” His hand crept up her thigh and pressed lightly against the curls nestled between her legs. “I have missed this, too. You’re wet,” he said softly.

  Isobel moved against his hand, longing to feel him inside her. “I’ve been wet since the first time you arrived at the excavation a week ago,” she said crossly. He smiled gently and slid one finger into her.

  “Mmmm,” she purred.

  Francis held her tightly and looked around. The clearing was sun filled, and the grass was dotted with tiny yellow flowers. “I don’t think you can wait,” he said softly. “Can you?”

  Isobel shook her head and ground against his hand. “It’s been weeks,” she said.

  “Well, then we shall get you what you want. I hate to think of you being unfulfilled,” said Francis. He slid his finger out of her as she gave a disappointed moan, and peeled off his coat, spreading it over the grass. “I regret this is all I have by way of a bed, my sweet, but I believe we can manage adequately.” He picked her up in one motion, and laid her down on his coat as gently as though she were made of glass. Then, kissing her fiercely, he shoved her skirts up to her waist, and pushed her bodice down, closing his lips around one rosy nipple, as she reached for the placket on his trousers. Fumbling only slightly in her haste, she unbuttoned it, taking his length into her hand and squeezing it lightly. He instantly grew longer and harder.

  “How lovely,” she said.

  “Look what you do to me,” he said, kneeling back. She raised herself up on her elbows and saw him, his hair shining in the sun, his white shirt blazing against the green grass, looking every inch the proper gentleman except for his rampant erection jutting from his breeches. She stared at him, entranced.

  “Do you want this?” he asked, running a finger down his length.

  Isobel licked her lips and nodded. “Oh yes,” she said softly.

  Francis reached out and shoved her skirts higher, then took her legs in his hands and spread them, bending her knees so that she was completely open to his view. “You look very inviting,” he said.

  “Don’t tease me, Francis. I need you,” said Isobel impatiently.

  “I like to see you desperate for me,” he answered. He ran a finger over her pink and glistening folds, drawing it back slick with her juices. “And you are very anxious, aren’t you?”

  Isobel shuddered at the sensation his finger evoked, and wondered briefly how he was exercising such control. Perhaps he had been with other women in the past weeks, while she had been celibate. The thought made her stomach sink.

  “I have been craving your arms around me and you inside me since I left London,” she answered, afraid that he would have the strength to walk away.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” said Francis. He moved over her, an arm on each side of her, and positioned his staff just against the opening to her welcoming channel. As she began to lie back, he stopped her.

  “No,” he said. “I want you to watch. Look down.”

  Isobel braced herself at an angle with her arms, and watched as Francis slowly eased into her body, one tiny, exquisite inch at a time. The sight of their bodies merging, his hard rod pushing through her soft auburn curls, made her clench her pussy harder.

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Francis. He moved forward until he was fully seated, their bodies touching, and then he forced himself ever so slightly higher against her womb. Isobel pushed forward against him, and tightened her knees at his hips. He drew back again, and she shivered with delight at the feel of his thickness and the friction as he withdrew slowly, his flesh shining with her juices. As he pushed forward again, she moaned, and when he leaned forward to take the tip of one breast in his mouth, her head dropped back and she gave a keening cry as she climaxed, her arms giving out as she fell back onto the ground. She moaned her pleasure as Francis watched, and waited for her to return to reality. When her eyes finally opened, he smiled at her pleasantly.

  “I see you have missed me,” he said. “I’m glad you enjoyed that. But now, you have to attend to me.”

  Isobel became aware that he was still hard inside her, and she wriggled slightly, clenching around him again.

  “That’s right,” he said. “Shall we make that happen again?”

  Isobel’s eyes widened at the thought, and then passion took over as Francis drew back and plunged into her fiercely, driving her backwards on his coat, moving quickly and rhythmically until her excitement built once more, and she felt herself again quivering on the brink. With one fierce thrust he pushed her over the edge, and then quickly pulled out, his warm seed spilling across the swell of her belly.

  Francis slowly rolled over onto his back, the grass tickling the back of his neck as he looked up at the clear sky. “I suppose I have to find a way to take this indoors,” he finally said. “The fresh air is invigorating, but I can’t take the time with you I would like.”

  Isobel stretched lazily. “And you have to leave your clothes on,” she murmured. “I miss seeing all of you.”

  He rolled over on his side, looking down at her. He ran one finger lazily through the come on her stomach, and then raised it to her lips. She licked it greedily.

  “I will definitely have to find a place for us to meet,” he said, eyes meeting hers. He kissed her gently, tasting himself on her lips.

  “Please do,” said Isobel.

  Some minutes later, when they had cleaned up as well as they could using Francis’ handkerchief and arranged their clothing, they walked slowly back to the excavation site. A few of the workers exchanged glances as they saw Miss Paley’s wrinkled dress and Lord Francis carrying his coat over his arm, but they returned silently to their work.

  Lord Francis and Isobel walked to where his horse was tied, and stood for a moment in silence.

  “Am I to understand that my attentions are no longer unwelcome?” he asked.

  She flushed slightly, confused. She had thought over the past weeks that she might be able to put Lord Francis out of her mind, but now, overwhelming every other consideration, she knew that she had to be with him again.

  “They are not unwelcome,” she murmured.

  Lord Francis nodded. He sensed her confusion, and decided not to press his advantage. Isobel wanted him more than she knew, he realized, but would have to come to that conclusion on her own. His best tactic would be to make sure he met her every need, a pastime that he would not find unpleasant.

  “I will see you very soon. Somewhere indoors,” he said.

  She gave him a wicked smile. “Anywhere private would be acceptable,” she said.

  He kissed her hand and swung himself up into the saddle. “I will keep that in mind,” he said, before cantering off.

  Chapter 26

  Before long an invitation arrived for an evening at Lord Glencairn's estate. The party was to consist of some local gentry, with a dinner and dancing a few reels afterwards in the drawing room. Harriet was transported with delight at the chance to see Glencairn Castle.

  "For, my dear, it is quite famous as a repository of wonderful artwork. Not that I am any judge at all, of course, but I would so love to say I had seen the objets d'art said to be there. And Margaret Cheswick will be dreadfully jealous when I tell her, for she fancies herself a judge of what is artistic and what is not, and she will be quite green to know that I have stolen such a march on her. And of course, you are the sort of woman who can appreciate such things, my dear; I am sure you shall be transported by his collection. And dear Lord Francis will be there, and the two of you dance together so charmingly. 'Twill be delightful, and I am sure that there is no reason we cannot go."

  In the face of such resolution, Isobel had no choice but to acquiesce. If she lingered a bit over her toilette the evening of the party, Babbidge did not say anything. If she also chose one of
her loveliest gowns to wear, and then checked carefully to ensure that its dark rose colored overdress opening over a white underdress with claret sprigging was flattering, well, 'twas merely because she felt the need to dress up after her long day in the field in a plain gray gown.

  The Paley ladies arrived at Glencairn Castle and entered to find the mansion brilliantly lit and wonderfully decorated. Harriet was overcome by the splendor of it all, and even Isobel had to allow the Earl possessed exquisite taste. He greeted them kindly, bowing graciously over their hands.

  "How kind of you to join us," he said graciously. "My friend Lord Francis Wheaton has spoken often and well of you both. I am honored to have you in my house; I have heard something of your reclusiveness while in Scotland."

  Isobel smiled. "It is not an intentional abrogation of my social duties, my lord," she said. "But merely that after the round of entertainments in London a certain solitude is attractive."

  "An admirable sentiment," he said. "I am glad that you nevertheless decided to attend my party this evening."

  "It is my pleasure," she replied.

  "I am doubly glad that Lord Francis is visiting me now, if he is the one who has managed to coax you out of your house," continued Lord Glencairn.

  Lord Glencairn turned to Harriet, and Isobel soon heard him promising to give her a personal tour of his renowned art collection.

  "And is Lady Glencairn not here?" asked Harriet. "I would so like to meet the mistress of this lovely home."

  "I am a widower these ten years, madam," said the Earl. "I have two children, of ages eleven and thirteen, and I fear they miss their mother very much."

  "What a pity," agreed Harriet. "Children do need a mother's tender care to help them grow. Not but what I am sure that you are the very best father they could hope for, and that you have made up in every way possible for their loss. How I do go on! I should not dwell so long on such a sad subject."

  The Earl bowed. "Not at all, madam. Your sentiments do you honor."

  Isobel was amused to see them getting on so well, but her attention was soon distracted by the approach of Lord Francis Wheaton. He was dressed with great propriety in black evening clothes, a single diamond glowing in his elegantly arranged cravat. He raised his quizzing glass to admire her, and she lifted her chin under his scrutiny.

  "Charming," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hand. "I am transfixed."

  "But not speechless," observed Isobel, somewhat tartly.

  "I shall always have speech to sing your praises," said Lord Francis, so extravagantly that a smile was coaxed out of Isobel.

  "You are ridiculous, sir," she said. "I believe I once told you that I did not need to be showered with pretty compliments."

  "Indeed you did, quite taking me aback," said Lord Francis. "But I find that it is very difficult not to praise a lady as lovely as you. It appears to have become a habit."

  Isobel laughed. "You have contrived to compliment me at the same time that you acknowledge I do not care to be complimented."

  Lord Francis gave her a very genuine smile. "I am rewarded by your laughter," he said.

  Lord Francis offered Isobel his arm, and she took it with a shiver of pleasure. Despite the constant distraction from her work he was proving to be, she had to admit that she found him charming. They progressed through the rooms, and Isobel was intrigued to note that he had a considerable understanding of the art collection that surrounded them.

  "You are very knowledgeable, sir," she said.

  "Only in certain areas," said Lord Francis. "I have made considerable study of Grecian marbles of the type we are currently examining, and can speak of them quite fluently. However, if I were to be presented with an Egyptian object, or perhaps an item from the Roman occupation of Britain, I would be far less capable. At such a time we would have to wish that Marcus Paley was at our side!"

  Isobel shot him a quick glance from under her lashes, but Lord Francis' face showed only bland good humor. "We could wish him here," she said, "but, as we both know, Marcus Paley is my cousin Alexander. But I am sure, that were he present, he would enjoy these marbles greatly."

  "Indeed," said Lord Francis. "They are particularly fine, I believe."

  Relieved that Lord Francis was not attempting to pursue the topic of Marcus Paley, Isobel allowed herself to relax and enjoy the evening. The company was excellent, the food remarkable, and the music delightful. At some point she even forgot to regret that the late evening would cut into her working hours on the next day.

  Isobel was not seated near Lord Francis at dinner, but afterwards, he solicited her for a dance. Although she felt a momentary qualm, remembering the Perchingham ball, she assented, and was soon enjoying the steps of a reel, at which Lord Francis seemed to be as adept as the waltz.

  "I will have to give my compliments to our host," she said. "It has been a delightful evening."

  "This is a lovely house," he responded. "Certainly, it is far more tasteful than the Marine Pavilion at Brighton. I am glad I followed your lead and repaired to Scotland rather than to the seaside."

  "Was it my views that brought you here?" asked Isobel. "I am flattered that you should think so highly of my opinion."

  "I have always respected good sense, a commodity you seem to have in abundance," said Lord Francis.

  Isobel fell silent, not quite sure if this was a compliment or not. She gave herself up to the movement of the dance, and began to feel quite peaceful. Lord Francis was such an able dancer that she almost felt as though she floated.

  The dance ended, and Isobel found that they stood near the doors to the terrace. Lord Glencairn was close at hand, and greeted them with a smile.

  "You dance together delightfully," he said.

  "Thank you," said Lord Francis. "Miss Paley and I have previously discussed how well our steps match one another’s." He smiled at Isobel warmly.

  Isobel gave him a reproving look. "Lord Francis is a skilled dancer. Any woman would be made to look graceful by his prowess." She determinedly changed the subject. "Are your gardens as lovely as your house, Lord Glencairn?"

  "Why, I do not like to flatter myself, but I believe they are considered to be exceptional," said his lordship. "Perhaps you would care to view them? One of the loveliest features of the Scottish summer is that, due to the midnight sun, the gardens can be seen at all hours."

  "I would be delighted," said Isobel, and the three of them moved to the long doors at the end of the drawing room, which had been flung open to admit the cooling breezes on this unusually warm evening. Behind them they could hear the musicians, and the laughter of the dancers, and before them the gardens of Glencairn Castle were visible in sharp detail under the long rays of the late evening sun. Geometrically precise boxwood hedges were softened by a profusion of colorful flowerbeds, extending some distance, to a low stone wall, where a pathway led out to a long lawn and an ornamental lake.

  "The gardens here at Glencairn rival your indoor art collection in their beauty, my lord," observed Isobel.

  "They were first laid out in the last century," responded the Earl. "And they were the delight of my late wife, who did a great deal with the flower beds, and improved them vastly to my mind, by softening the entire effect."

  "The aspect is very pleasing," added Lord Francis. "Perhaps a stroll would allow for better viewing, as well a respite from the heat of the room."

  He and the Earl each extended an arm to Isobel, who took them laughingly and the threesome proceeded across the terrace and into the gardens. They paused before a handsome classical statue of a piping faun.

  "A reproduction of the original which I saw in Greece," said the Earl. "I prefer to keep my antiquities indoors where they can be suitably preserved, although I know that there are many who would argue that statuary was created to be placed outdoors."

  "A wise course of action, Lord Glencairn," said Isobel. "The historical record has been irreparably damaged by the careless actions of those who do not see the value of caref
ul preservation."

  "How valuable to have your insights, Miss Paley," said Lord Francis. "Your work for your cousin has no doubt increased your appreciation of ancient art."

  Their party had now reached the stone wall, and they looked across the well-kept lawn dotted with daisies towards the lake, where sweet flag bloomed and willow trees trailed their graceful branches into the water.

  "What a charming spot this would be for a folly," said Lord Francis.

  "How very odd that you should notice that, my boy," responded the Earl. "My dear wife often thought the same, and I had intended to build one for her, but her untimely demise of course put an end to my plans. I have occasionally considered building such a structure in her memory because it would have pleased her so, but have no notion of the design of such things. Eleanor would have known just how to go about it, but I am more familiar with objects than I am with landscapes."

  Lord Francis grinned into the distance, but then turned an impassive face to the Earl.

  "Miss Paley could assist you in your project, Glencairn," he said. "I recall her informing me when I was convalescing at her home, that she had assisted Lady Grosbridge in the design of a classical folly, and that her work for her cousin Marcus Paley had been of great use in the effort."

  Isobel did not know how to respond. She could cheerfully have run Lord Francis through had she only been supplied with a saber, and been rid of an audience. But good manners prevailed.

  "My contributions were minor," she said repressively. "The folly in question was a modest effort."

  But Glencairn turned an animated countenance to her. "It would be the greatest thing, Miss Paley, if you could assist me in the design of a classical folly," he said with enthusiasm. "I can think of few things that would give me greater joy than to see the structure that Eleanor spoke of so often taking shape before me. You cannot deny an old man this pleasure. I beg that you will do me the honor of assisting in such an endeavor."