Tiger's Eye

by Karen Robards

  “Alec. My dress.” Her eyes opened at the unexpectedness of his violence.

  “I’ll buy you another one, love. Dozens, if you like.”

  He was pulling the gown down her arms, pushing it past her waist so that it fell to her ankles. She obliged him by stepping out of it, and then undoing the tapes of her petticoat while he wrestled with the laces of her stays. When at last she stood before him clad only in the scant protection of her chemise, he looked down at her for a long moment with an expression that made her heart stop.

  Then he reached for her again.

  Isabella made a tiny mewling sound, and melted into his arms. Her arms went around his back, under the abused shirt, clutching him to her. He lifted her, and laid her on the bed, fumbling with his breeches as he came down on top of her.

  “Forgive me, love. I can’t wait more,” he breathed into her ear. Her legs parted for him even as his still-breeched thighs slid between them, and then he was pushing against her for a scant moment until he found the place he sought and thrust inside.

  Isabella stiffened as he filled her, fighting to hold back the hot, sweet clamoring that was refusing to be denied. He sensed her battle and went very still, then with a muffled curse began to move, pushing himself inside her again and again as she surrendered with a cry to the abyss that from the beginning had threatened to claim her.

  “Christ Almighty.”

  It might have been a curse or a prayer. Isabella didn’t know. She only knew that he plunged into her at that instant of her deepest joy with a wild hunger and a wilder cry, holding himself inside her as his lean, strong body convulsed with long shudders. Finally he collapsed on top of her. Spent, he lay still, and she wrapped her arms around him, snuggling her cheek against his still-thudding heart.

  L

  “We never do manage to do this properly, do we?” It was a little while later. Alec lay on his back on the bed, his head properly disposed on a pillow, and a wry smile on his face. He was very much in control again, of his voice and his emotions. Isabella lay close beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. His arm was around her, and she was, at the moment, feeling very much content with the world.

  “Is there a proper way to do it?” she asked, interested. Her hand, resting against his chest inside the buttonless shirt he still wore, stroked his skin idly.

  He slanted a look down at her. There was a wry twist to his mouth as he smiled. “We might try it with both of us naked. And slowly. Very, very slowly. So that I can savor every square inch of you.”

  “You’re putting me to the blush.”

  She suited the action to the words. He laughed as he saw the truth of her statement, hugged her closer and kissed the top of her head.

  “I like a woman who can blush. It opens up all kinds of interesting possibilities.”

  “Such as?”

  Alec sat up. Dislodged from her resting place, Isabella made a sound of protest as she was left lying forlornly on the mattress. Surveying himself rather ruefully, he gave the hitch to his breeches that was needed to make him minimally decent. Then, feeling her watching him, he looked up to meet her eyes. Pouting at his absence, Isabella had shifted so that her head rested on the pillow his head vacated. His eyes swept her as she lay there, legs sprawled, sleepy-eyed in the aftermath of their loving. Suddenly self-conscious, Isabella tugged down the shift she still wore so that she was covered to midthigh. His eyes took on a gleam as they surveyed her. Seeing that gleam, and remembering what he’d said about being naked, she felt a languorous twinge deep inside as that part of her she had thought was sated awakened once more.

  “Such as, would you blush if I kissed your toes?”

  He ran his hand down the length of her bare leg as he spoke, half teasing but still sending tremors up her spine in the wake of that warm touch. To her surprise, he captured her ankle, shifted position a little, and lifted her foot to his mouth to nibble on her small bare toes.

  “Alec! Stop!”

  Isabella wiggled her toes in shocked protest, while he held her ankle and kissed them one by one, drawing the big toe into his mouth and sucking on it for good measure.

  “She does blush. Interesting,” he observed with a devilish glint as he lifted her foot higher to press kisses on the sensitive instep.

  “Stop kissing my foot! It tickles, and it’s … it’s embarrassing!”

  “If you insist.”

  Obligingly he desisted, but she relaxed too soon. Retaining his grip on her ankle, he slid his mouth up over her ankle to nibble his way up her calf to her knee, where his mouth rested for a long moment, hot and wet against her skin. Isabella, blushing furiously now at both his action and the immodesty of her posture with one leg lifted high, pulled down the hem of her chemise with one hand and sought to scoot into a sitting position with the aid of the other.

  “Would you stop?”

  She was laughing a little at the sheer foolishness of him, but she meant it too. What he was doing was … exciting. But far too wicked to be permitted.

  “ Remember our bargain?”

  “What bargain?”

  “You were to turn me into a gentleman and I was to turn you into a beauty?”

  “What does that have to do with anything? Alec, stop kissing my knee!”

  “A beautiful woman is one who looks well and thoroughly loved. I’m just trying to keep my part of our agreement.” He accompanied that with a devilish smile.

  “I knew you’d come out with something like that sooner or later. Well, if you think I … Alec, you can’t do that!”

  His mouth left her knee to crawl up the inside of her thigh as she spoke. The scorching journey made her break out in goose bumps from head to toe. Again she tried to pull her ankle free of his hold. Again he refused to release her while his mouth inched closer to that part of her that he had already claimed very thoroughly as his own.

  “It isn’t decent! You musn’t!”

  He lifted his head at that to regard her intently. “For a married lady, Countess, you’re very innocent. Didn’t you and St. Just ever have fun in bed?”

  “No!”

  “He did bed you. You weren’t a virgin that night in the Carousel, I know full well.”

  “No, of course I … Oh, do we have to talk about this?”

  It was almost a wail. If her blush got any hotter, she’d go up in flames. It didn’t help that the whole time he was interrogating her, his hand, almost absently, stroked up and down the inside of her captured thigh.

  “I think so. You were a virgin when you married, I’m certain. So all you know about sex is what you learned from St. Just—which doesn’t seem to be a hell of a lot—and me. Am I right?”

  “Yes!”

  Distractedly she tried again to pull her ankle from his hold. He retained his grip without effort, watching her embarrassed struggles to make herself decent.

  “I gather that his idea of a good time in bed was ten minutes rutting in the dark?”

  “Alec!”

  Shocked at his crudeness, she stopped struggling and sat up straight, staring at him. The flickering firelight painted his chiselled features in shades of bronze, while his hair gleamed like old gold from the reflected light of the flames. With his shirt loose and open, and his breeches unbuttoned to expose his belly a considerable number of inches past his navel, he looked very handsome—and more than a little debauched.

  “Well?”

  He clearly meant to have an answer. Isabella, feeling herself turn seven shades of red, muttered resentfully, “Yes.”

  “I thought so.”

  He began to rub her thigh again, then pressed a kiss on the inside of it just above her knee. To her surprise, he released her ankle, and sat looking at her meditatively. Isabella drew her legs out of his reach, scrambling up into the bed until she was sitting with her back pressed against the headboard, watching him with as much wariness as a rabbit might watch a hound.

  “This calls for a different type of approach,” he said after a mi
nute. “Surely you cannot be shy of me still, Isabella?”

  “It depends.”

  That wary response surprised a smile out of him.

  “Canny, aren’t you, my girl? But you’ve no need to be shy of me after bedding me twice, and pretty hotly too. The way I see it, you’re eager to learn but a little uncertain of what you’re about. And green as grass. The first thing you’ve got to understand is that tumbling about in bed with a man is fun. Let me teach you that, Isabella. Let me teach you how good it can be between a man and a woman.”

  She moistened her lips with her tongue. He was seducing her again, with words alone, without even touching her. And she … was she willing to be seduced?

  “I won’t do … anything indecent. Like … like …”

  Her voice trailed off as she found herself at a loss to describe what she suspected he had been meaning to do to her.

  This time he laughed outright. “Oh, Isabella, you are a delight! Do you know, this is as new for me as it is for you? I’ve never had a virgin, or anything approaching one. My previous bedmates have been at least as experienced as I, if not more so. So you see, we can learn together.”

  Her wariness increased when he sat down on the end of the bed, pulled off his boots, and then, barefoot, stood and held out his hand to her.

  “Come on.”

  “Where to?”

  “Nowhere. Right here.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “Just trust me, will you please? I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Anytime you want, you can tell me to stop. And I’ll stop. I give you my word.”

  Isabella looked at him for a moment, hesitating. Then she held out her hand, and let him pull her from the bed. With both of them barefoot, facing each other, linked by their clasped hands, he stood at least a foot above her. It struck her for the first time how tall he was. Next to Paddy, as she was used to seeing him, he looked no taller than the average, but she herself was a little above average height, and the top of her head did not even reach his chin. The very handsomeness of his face tended to blind one to the sheer muscular power of his body, but standing so close to him, Isabella was totally aware of how helpless she would be against him if he should choose to exert his strength against her. But this was Alec, whom she had grown to rely on more than anyone in the world. He had given his word to stop anytime she chose to call a halt.

  “What do you want me to do?” she said low.

  He smiled, then reached out and caught her other hand to pull her closer.

  “Let’s do it properly this time,” he said in a husky voice that was scarcely above a whisper. “Let’s have this thing off you.”

  He let go of her, and reached for the hem of her chemise. Though she knew it was foolish, knew he’d already seen all there was to see of her that night in the Carousel, she panicked suddenly at the idea of standing naked before him, washed in gold by the dying fire, her body revealed to his eyes with no secrets left to her. Swallowing, she shook her head.

  Immediately he withdrew his hands. “All right then. How about if you undress me?”

  Catching her hands, he placed them against his chest. Isabella was conscious of the heat and strength of that chest, of how she had caressed and kissed it not an hour ago.

  She took a step closer, so that little space separated their bodies. The warmth of him, the smell of him, enticed her. His hands were at his sides now, as he waited, quiescent, for what she would do.

  Earlier, he had talked of making love naked. Isabella realized that the very idea of Alec naked made her throat go dry.

  Without a word she slid her hands beneath the sides of his shirt and slipped it from his shoulders. It fell to the floor at his feet. Then, as his eyes darkened, her hands slid from his shoulders over his chest and belly to the waistband of his breeches. The buttons were still open, and it was no great task to push the breeches down his hips to his thighs. His manhood sprang free, huge and ready, and he sucked in his breath as it did. Still he made no move to touch her, just stood there as she tugged the breeches down his thighs until he could step out of them and kick them aside.

  She straightened, her eyes flickering over him, touching him everywhere, drinking in the sheer physical perfection of him. His shoulders were wide, his hips narrow. His legs were long and corded with muscle. From the evidence between them, he was once again eager to push her on her back and pump out his lust, but he was as good as his word. He let her look, just look, and made no move to touch her.

  His very willingness to let her take the lead, to let her learn about his body without interference, excited her. She reached out, touched him gently, her finger just brushing that enormous man-part of him. He groaned, and jerked as if she had hurt him, but still he made no move to grab her.

  Isabella made a decision. She would trust him, trust him to teach her about his body and her own. From him, she would hold nothing back.

  As he watched her, his eyes blazing hotter than the fire, she reached down, caught the hem of her chemise, and drew it over her head.

  “Teach me, Alec,” she said simply, and threw the garment on the floor beside the fire.

  LI

  It was dawn before they fell into an exhausted sleep. When Isabella awoke hours later, it was to find that the curtains had been opened to permit sunlight to blaze into the room, and the ashes had been swept from the hearth. Apparently the maid whose daily tasks included these duties had seen no reason not to perform them just because her master was still abed, and with his female houseguest yet. At the thought of anyone, even a maidservant, seeing her lying in Alec’s arms, Isabella felt a surge of shame. But then, she told herself, such was the lot of mistresses.

  A mistress. By her actions last night she had taken on that role. The first time, in the Carousel, she might have excused herself on the grounds that she had lost her head. But last night … last night she had been willing, nay, eager, to lie with Alec. Eager to make love with him until they were both too sated to do anything more than fall into a stuporous sleep. The unaccustomed amount of wine she had consumed might serve as a convenient excuse for her behavior, but Isabella knew the truth: she had done nothing she had not desperately wanted to do.

  The bedroom door was closed. Isabella made sure of that, then sat up. The sheet fell about her waist, but she made no move to cover herself with it. Alec was asleep, and except for him, she was alone. Besides, she supposed that covering herself in front of Alec was now a waste of time.

  Mistresses certainly could not be modest.

  He was lying on his back, one arm flung up above his head, the other hidden beneath the rumpled pile of bedclothes. His mouth was open, his jaw was dark with stubble, his hair was wildly tousled. By all rights, looking at him on this, the morning after, should have repulsed her.

  But it didn’t. Her eyes moved over him assessingly. Even ungracefully asleep, the man was breathtaking. Some master hand had carved each feature and, putting them together, formed a flawlessly handsome whole. Had he been less than the man he was, his face could only have been a drawback in the world from which he had sprung.

  Like herself, he was naked. The coverings came midway up his chest, but his broad shoulders and the upper part of his chest were bare above them. Dark hair with just a tinge of gold tufted under his upraised arm. The hair on his chest was a shade or so lighter.

  His shoulders were heavy with muscle. From intimate experience Isabella knew that the rest of him was equally powerful. Had they been wed, she would have felt a swelling of pride every time she looked at him, to know that this gorgeous man was hers.

  But they were not wed.

  She had not been raised to find herself as a man’s mistress. Any man’s, be he lord or commoner. Her mother had been a devout churchgoer, a woman of unshakable principles. Although she had died before Isabella had been more than half-grown, her influence on her only child had been strong. And Pressy, dear Pressy. How horrified her faithful governess would be if she could know to what d
epths her charge had sunk.

  Pressy, raised in the Church of Rome, would be sure that Isabella was destined for eternal hell-fire. Adultery was a mortal sin, after all. If she could see her charge now, Pressy would be saying fervent prayers for Isabella’s soul.

  Restless, Isabella got out of bed, found her chemise on the floor, and put it on. Her petticoat was in one piece. She put that on, too. Then she pulled the ruined dress over her head, picked up the remainder of her garments, and took herself back to her own chamber to wash and dress for the day.

  She did not spare Alec so much as a single look as she let herself out the bedroom door.

  Later, disdaining breakfast, she went out to walk in the rose gardens at the back of the house, and ended up wandering down to the pavilion that overlooked the lake. It was in that pavilion, seated pensively on the stone bench, that Alec at last found her.

  She was dressed in lavender. The gentle shade made her skin look very white, and her hair a color softer than gold, but brighter than brown. Her face was turned away from him as he approached along the path from the house. As she stared out over the small ornamental lake at the back of the property, her expression was almost sad.

  “Isabella.”

  She turned to look at him then, smiling faintly. Was it his imagination or did the smile not reach her eyes?

  “Good morning, Alec.” Her voice was very composed, remote even. He looked at her more closely. Was she angry at him?

  It surprised him to discover that he, who had faced bullets and knives and violent men and angry women by the score over the course of his life, should be made so ill at ease by one slender chit.

  “Have you breakfasted?” The prosaic was the only way he could think to approach her.

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t hungry.” Then her eyes left his face to travel out over the lake once more.