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

by Alicia Quigley

  “I think I might be ready for you,” she said.

  Impatiently, Francis turned to also straddle the bench and, seizing her wrist, withdrew her hand. Not ungently, but quickly, he pushed her down so her back was on the bench, and slid his hands under hips, grasping her bottom and raising her slightly. Isobel gave a cry of pleasure as his tongue slid over her sleek surfaces, teasing her, as his wicked tongue unerringly identified the most sensitive spot, bringing her to an almost unbearable pitch. He felt her quiver as her climax began and he thrust his tongue into her, urging her on as she lifted her hips, seeking complete satisfaction. She gasped and quivered against him as she came, whispering his name. Very gently he lowered her hips to the bench and slid his hand across her mons, stroking her gently so that her excitement began to grow again immediately.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, watching the desire build once more in her eyes. “So passionate. Are you ready for me?”

  “Always,” she replied. “That was entrancing, but I need you inside me.”

  Francis began to unbutton his breeches, but stopped abruptly when he heard voices floating down from the main path.

  “And then my cousin, Charlotte Badgely, told me that under no circumstances would she ever marry, as she meant to be a support to her mother in her old age. Which I told her was a foolish choice, for she could always aid my aunt while still having a husband and a home, but then, she was always headstrong, was dear Charlotte.”

  “How fascinating, Miss Walcott,” said a man’s voice.

  Stunned, Francis realized that Harriet and the Earl of Glencairn were strolling towards Dargenwater Cottage. He glanced up, and through the thin veil of trees that separated the bench from the path saw them, Harriet leaning on the earl’s arm, her shawl fluttering in the breeze. His hand still resting lightly on her mons, Francis glanced down at Isobel, and was astounded to see that she was silently laughing. She held a finger up to her lips and gave him a roguish look. She placed her hand over his and pressed, urging him to pleasure her further.

  “Isobel, what are you doing?” he hissed.

  “Shhh,” she whispered. “They won’t see us—-Harriet’s eyesight is dreadful--and will soon be gone. And if they do see us, I have no doubt Harriet will be shocked, but delighted.”

  The older couple moved on while Isobel ground slowly against Francis’ hand. She raised her hands to her nipples and stroked them, keeping one eye on Francis’ face. When Harriet and the earl had finally moved on, he shook he head.

  “What have you become, Miss Paley?” he asked in mock disapproval.

  “Only what you have made me, Lord Francis. Miss Wollstonecraft made me bold enough for an affaire, but you have made me insatiable.”

  She reached over and slid his coat from his shoulders, then unbuttoned his breeches. As his erection sprang free, she inched along the bench towards him, then stood over him, her hands on his shoulders, her skirts falling around them. Slowly, she fit the opening of her warm passage over him and eased down a small amount, taking just the tip inside.

  “Oh,” she gasped, the muscles in her channel tightening around him. She slid slowly down, moaning, her head tossed back, until she was fully impaled. With a tiny shudder as she sought to control herself, she looked at Francis, her eyes glazed with desire.

  “Look at us,” she said. “If Harriet and Lord Glencairn should come back, we would look almost proper. We are fully clothed, it would appear—except for my breasts.” She glanced down at herself.

  Francis leaned his head down and took one luscious nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and suckling gently. Isobel shuddered, enjoying his hardness filling her to satiation, hovering on the brink of climax. When Francis bit down sharply, she shrieked and gave way, the world seeming to come apart around her. Francis placed his hands on her hips and pushed her down, shoving himself up further, and joined her, his orgasm shaking him to the core.

  They clung to each other for some minutes, both unable to speak. Finally, Francis lifted Isobel off him, and seated her next to him, his arm around her shoulders.

  “It’s never been like that before,” said Isobel after a moment, her voice wondering.

  “Perhaps it’s because we have been honest with each other,” said Francis.

  “Perhaps,” said Isobel. She knew that, as wonderful her times with Francis had been previously, she had never before felt quite that same combination of joy and shattering desire. It both amazed and perturbed her, knowing that that connection existed.

  “I’ve torn your dress,” said Lord Francis.

  Isobel shrugged, and lifted the ruined bodice over her breasts. “I will wrap my shawl around myself until I return home. No one will notice.”

  “I will know,” Francis pointed out. “And it will make me want you again.”

  She smiled warmly at him, and kissed him gently. Then she laughed as he produced three handkerchiefs. “I’ve taken to carrying spares after our encounter at your excavation,” he said.

  They laughed as they cleaned themselves, and then Francis put his coat on, while Isobel wrapped her paisley shawl around her bodice. Then they sat next to one another on the bench, Isobel’s head resting on his shoulder.

  Finally, Francis thought, he had found the key to her heart. "My darling," he said. "When shall we be wed? I would have it be as soon as possible; I want all the world to know of the love I have for you."

  Isobel heard his words as though in a trance. He knew that she was Marcus Paley and did not care. He meant to allow her to continue her studies. How everyone would be amazed. Her brother, of course, would be unable to believe that Lord Francis would overlook her intellectual achievements, but others would be pleased for her, such as Harriet and Letitia.

  Isobel's eyes flew open at the thought. How could she have forgotten Letty, with her sad letter even now resting in her reticule? Letitia must have felt like this once. Isobel could remember the glow in her eyes and the sweetness of her smile when she had informed Isobel of her engagement to Lord Morgan. He had beyond a doubt made countless promises to Letitia, but had broken them all. Would Lord Francis remember what he promised her today? Did he even mean them as he said them, or was it just a trap?

  Chapter 30

  Isobel raised her head and looked up into Lord Francis' face. She saw only joy in his eyes, and for a moment she hesitated. Then he lowered his head to kiss her again and she turned her head.

  "Let go of me," she said in a low voice.

  "What is it, dear heart?" asked Lord Francis.

  "I said, let go of me," said Isobel more loudly. Her voice trembled slightly as she said the words, but she gained courage with the sound. "I cannot marry you."

  Lord Francis removed his arms from about her, but retained a hold on her hand. "What nonsense is this, Isobel? I have told you that I do not care what your interests are, as long as I am one of them. What more can you want of me?"

  "And how am I to be sure that you mean what you say?" said Isobel. "Your promises are sweet when you seek to lure me into marriage, but what confidence can I have in them?"

  Lord Francis looked very puzzled, and mildly annoyed. "Isobel, what reason do you have to doubt me? Have I ever given you cause to think that I would not keep my word?"

  Isobel snatched her hand from his and stood up. "I have no more reason to trust your word than any other man's," she said. "You may say these things today and forget them as easily once I am safely tied to you and can no longer speak for myself. Or perhaps you merely say them to gain my agreement to wed you, without meaning them at all. All too many women have found themselves in a sorry situation for having loved a man."

  Lord Francis stood and looked at her in bewilderment. "Isobel, would I have come all this way to Scotland to be with you, or have scoured England over for Marcus Paley, if I merely wanted to entrap you into marriage for some nefarious reason of my own? There are any number of women who would marry me without my having to go to such lengths. I ask you to marry me becaus
e I love you and cherish you and wish to share your life and interests."

  "Pretty words, my lord," said Isobel. "But I cannot trust in them. I will not hand myself over, body and soul, to someone else's care. I have seen the effect that can have."

  "What is this silliness about having seen women maltreated by men? Who do you know that has ever been so hurt by her husband? Surely no one of our acquaintance has used their wife so," said Lord Francis.

  "So you would think, my lord, being willing to look no further than the end of your nose," said Isobel sharply. Either the man was lying or he was so blind that he did not realize his own friend was destroying Letty's life. Either way, she thought his behavior reprehensible. "I have seen it at very close quarters, and it is not pleasant. I will not put myself in the way of being so used."

  Lord Francis took a step closer to her. "Isobel, I am hurt that you should doubt me. Who do you know that is in such dire straits that you should take it so to heart?"

  Isobel turned her head away and did not answer.

  "Is it Lady Morgan?" asked Lord Francis. "She is the only friend of yours I can think of who has spent much time away from her husband."

  Isobel turned on him, anxious to draw his attention away from Letty. "It does not matter who it is, or even if there is such a person," she said sharply. "You presume that I will marry you simply because you patronize me by saying you do not mind my studies. You say that now, but when we are some years wed and have children, you will think your comfort of much more value than my work, and then I will be expected to leave my desires to follow yours! I will not be so bound."

  Lord Francis stepped back, an angry look on his face. "If you think so poorly of me, then I have no doubt we would not deal together well, ma'am. I have twice offered you my heart with all sincerity and you have spurned it; I will not give you another opportunity."

  "I do not want one," said Isobel, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. "You are like all men, thinking that women want nothing more than to be at your side." She turned sharply and marched up the path towards Dargenwater Cottage, her head held high. Unfortunately for the effect she wished to create, she stepped on a rock and twisted her ankle. She felt a sharp pang, and she found herself sprawled inelegantly on the grass gasping in pain.

  Lord Francis hurried to her side.

  "Are you injured?" he asked.

  Isobel felt ready to cry from pain and irritation. "I am fine, I am sure, Lord Francis," she said in as dignified a manner as possible.

  Despite his annoyance with Isobel, Lord Francis could not resist a smile at the absurdity of the situation. "Allow me to assist you," he said politely, offering his hand.

  Isobel had no choice but to clasp it and to allow him to raise her to her feet. Upon standing she felt very dizzy, and it was plain that she would be unable to walk for some time.

  "You must be taken home and tended to," said Lord Francis. "I imagine a doctor should be fetched to examine the ankle."

  "It is not that serious," said Isobel. "I will simply rest a few moments and then walk back to Dargenwater Cottage. There is no need for you to wait, Francis."

  "On the contrary, I would be the veriest villain to abandon you at such a moment," said Lord Francis. "I think it would be best to take care of your ankle as soon as possible. It is probably not broken, but I do not doubt it is sprained. I will carry you home."

  "You certainly will not!" said Isobel sharply. She could think of nothing more appalling than being carried in the arms of a man whose proposal of marriage she had twice rejected, particularly when that suitor was not unattractive to her.

  "I cannot leave you here alone, and we cannot wait until you can walk, Isobel. This is not the time to be missish. I believe that, despite the odd circumstances, we can contrive to be civil to one another for the few minutes this will require."

  With these words Lord Francis advanced upon her and picked her up. Isobel drew in her breath to feel herself held tightly against his chest, her face on a level with his lordship's. She could see quite clearly the fine blonde hair lying against his pale skin and the muscle twitching in the corner of his jaw. His warm breath stirred against her cheek and she could feel his heart beat as she was pressed lightly against his muscular chest. She closed her eyes.

  "Are you feeling faint?" asked Lord Francis.

  Isobel opened her eyes quickly. "Of course not, Francis. This concern of yours is quite unnecessary. I would soon be able to walk, if you would simply wait."

  "We cannot be sure of that, ma'am," said Lord Francis. He began to walk down the road towards Dargenwater Cottage. It was apparent to Isobel that her weight was no burden to him; he carried her lightly and with little effort.

  Neither of them spoke at first, but after some minutes Lord Francis apparently felt the need to converse.

  "While I realize that the subject must be painful to you, Isobel, I must return to our earlier topic of conversation. It is quite clear to me that it is not my person you find objectionable, but rather some idea you have of the state of marriage. While your brother is not a scintillating individual, it is clear that his marriage is a happy one, and, from all I have heard, your parents made a love match. From whence comes this abhorrence of matrimony?"

  "It is not at all fair of you to question me on this subject, Francis," said Isobel. "I am quite at your mercy."

  "Do not come the frail female, Isobel," said Lord Francis, a touch of humor in his voice. "I am afraid I know you rather too well to believe such nonsense from your lips."

  "Perhaps you do," said Isobel ruefully. "You have every reason to know me to be most unretiring in my behavior."

  "I am not interested in retiring behavior," observed Lord Francis. "Else I would never have been interested in you. Come, Isobel, I believe you owe it to me to be honest. What has caused this conviction of yours that if you marry me I will turn into some sort of ogre?"

  "I do not believe you to be a monster, though I have some doubts as to your acquaintances," said Isobel. "I am simply reluctant to turn myself over to another's care and thereby extinguish my existence in the eyes of the world."

  "Is that not a rather extreme view?" asked Lord Francis.

  "Not at all," said Isobel. "I have had some reason to discuss this with my solicitor and I have found the law is quite firm on the subject."

  "And why have you been discussing such an unusual topic with your man of business?" asked Lord Francis.

  "There are certain matters which are not mine to share," said Isobel.

  Lord Francis gave her a shrewd look. "I see that there is yet another mystery to unravel," he said. "You are certainly a complex woman."

  "There is nothing here more complex than my simple desire to remain independent, ," said Isobel. "Pray, do not worry about me any longer. I believe I have made my feelings on this matter very clear."

  The pair now approached Dargenwater Cottage, and Lord Francis strode up to the door and rapped on it sharply. A surprised servant opened the door and Lord Francis carried her over the threshold in his arms.

  "Fetch Miss Walcott," he said sharply. "I will take Miss Paley into the morning room. She has injured her ankle."

  The servant scurried away, and Lord Francis carried Isobel into the room and laid her on the couch. She raised herself to a seated position and gave a small laugh.

  "I must thank you for your gallantry, Francis," she said. "Our situation was very awkward, and I appreciate your generosity in setting it aside."

  "I have set it aside indeed, Isobel," he said. "I will not importune you further."

  Isobel looked down, not knowing what to say. She was aware that she did not feel unalloyed happiness at his words. Indeed, she felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of what she might be giving up.

  "Lord Francis..." she said, not sure exactly what she would say next. At that moment Harriet swept into the room.

  "Oh my dear, how shocking that you should have sprained your ankle," she said, wringing her hands. "Is it very pain
ful? I recall that when my brother Phillip was only seven he twisted his ankle very badly, and my father would have it that he exaggerated the pain, and then only fancy, we found out that it was broken. Poor little fellow, how he did shriek to be sure when they set it."

  "He certainly has all my sympathy," Lord Francis attempted to interject with a smile.

  "I knew that it would be thus when you left. After I saw what a taking that letter from Letitia Winwood had you in, I said to myself that no good would come of it when the servants informed me that you had gone off on your own. Too impetuous by half you are, Isobel. I have no doubt that you were reading her letter and brooding over Alfred's vices as you walked, and that is why you tripped and injured your ankle."

  Harriet drew breath and looked about her, but for once, neither Isobel nor Francis leaped into the conversational breach to stem the tide of her words. Her interpretation of the situation was far from correct, but as neither of the principals was inclined to apprise her of the true situation, both remained silent.

  "Had you only more wit than hair, Isobel, you would do as I and confine your exercise to healthful turns in the gardens with the arm of a gallant gentleman such as Lord Glencairn to ensure that you do not trip over a stone," Harriet continued, waving at Glencairn who had entered the room with her.

  At the mention of Letitia's name, and the comments with which Harriet followed it, Lord Francis had stiffened, and though he now lounged seemingly casually near the mantel, he directed a hard stare at Isobel. She blushed under his scrutiny and turned away. To cover her confusion, she turned to Harriet,

  "Have you and Lord Glencairn been walking in the gardens of Dargenwater Cottage then?" she asked. "I wonder that either of you can support their dullness after the charms of Glencairn's gardens."