The burning that had tormented her for so long became hotter, but it also held a sweetness, like warm, sticky honey. The sensation traveled through her veins and warmed her whole body, all the while getting hotter at its core.
Then a thundering pleasure so elemental, so complete, burst outwards from her very soul and left her trembling in its wake.
Beckett groaned as he gave a final thrust. He buried his face in her neck, and his body relaxed on top of hers. He stayed there for a moment, panting.
With a soft kiss he rolled off her, pulling her close in front of him. And though it had been the last thing she’d meant to do, Isobel fell asleep exhausted in her husband’s arms.
* * *
Beckett lifted one of Isobel’s golden curls in his fingers and watched the light from the window play upon it. It shone as bright as a moonbeam.
Pale moonbeams, that was the color of her hair.
It must be the middle of the night, he thought. They had both fallen asleep after—
He felt a smile come to his lips.
Her response to his lovemaking had been hotter and wilder than any husband had a right to dream. His little wife had been as uninhibited as one of the undulating Bajan dancers last night at Cropover. Her passion had excited him unbearably.
Now, she slept in his arms, her warm, naked body curved into his, her round little buttocks deliciously pressed against his hips. He felt himself getting hard just thinking about her, about what they’d done together in this bed.
Perhaps he would wake her.
No. A good husband would let her sleep.
As he played with her hair, he doubted he was anything resembling a good husband—though perhaps he was making too much of this. It would have only been a matter of time until he had given in to his desire for her. What difference did it make if it was sooner rather than later? He had warned her not to expect more from him.
Suddenly, his thoughts skipped to Cordelia.
During their engagement they had never made love, though it hadn’t been for his lack of trying. But she had always turned prudish in his arms. He’d thought her to be just playing coy, protesting her virginity for form’s sake. Now, he had the feeling that Cordelia would never have warmed to him as Isobel had done. It simply wasn’t in her nature.
Oh, but these were preposterous thoughts.
He did not want to let any lustful feelings for Isobel trick him into thinking he was the slightest bit in love with her. Nothing would make the ton wag their tongues faster, than if he came back besotted with his new bride.
Though Isobel had proven a superb bedmate, it didn’t mean she was any different from Cordelia, deep down. Certainly, Isobel was beautiful, but Cordelia also had been beautiful. He had fancied himself in love with Cordelia. Hell, he had been in love with her, with a woman who had never truly loved him. And he had been pitifully blind to the truth. He would not let that happen again.
Cordelia had lied to him, and so had Isobel. He mustn’t let himself forget that.
In her sleep, Isobel squirmed her bottom against his hips, fully hardening his arousal. Oh, damn. How would he be able to get back to sleep now?
She did it again, and he decided to take it as an invitation. Perhaps she was dreaming about their lovemaking, and wanted nothing more than what he was about to do.
Beckett slid his hand down and tenderly touched her nipple.
She moaned.
Gently, he pressed his hardened sex against the softness of her buttocks.
She sighed.
Then he reached down and softly stroked the velvet flower between her legs.
She whimpered adorably.
He flicked his tongue out to tease the edge of her ear, and heard her intake of breath as she awoke.
“Hmmm… Beckett?”
He chuckled lightly. “Were you expecting someone else?”
She looked back at him, and he smiled at her sleepy face in the moonlight. “What are you doing?” she mumbled.
He resumed his caresses and she closed her eyes.
“That is what I am doing,” he answered. “But only if you want me to. I’m afraid you’ve been wiggling your bottom against me in your sleep, and damned if it didn’t harden me up like stone.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Are you ready for more of your husband’s loving?”
“I think so.” She started to turn to face him.
“No, you can stay like this.” He pressed his chest against her back. “I’ve had dreams about loving you this way, and I would dearly like to see them become reality.”
He gently pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and heard her gasp.
“You see,” he said, “I can pay your lovely breasts all the attention they deserve this way, and I know how greedy those beautiful little darlings can be.”
He snaked his other hand down to keep stroking between her legs, and she reached back and grabbed his hip, pulling him against her.
Beckett nuzzled the softness of her hair, caressing her neck with his cheek. She moaned as his fingers slipped into her. Damn if the feel of her so hot and wet didn’t threaten to make him spill right now.
“I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got to be inside you. I’ve got to—” He groaned as he slid from behind into the slick heat of her.
Then, thrusting with long hard strokes, he drew out his pleasure until it was an unbearable madness.
Oh God, she felt good.
He was near release, now, and he wanted her with him, wanted her breaking as he was going to, and he stroked her little pearl of pleasure until she cried out.
He groaned, then pushed himself deep inside her. As the wave of his own pleasure approached, he thrust powerfully, and Isobel cried out as she climaxed.
Beckett gave in to his own surrender, letting out a shuddering breath. He pulled her close, squeezing tightly and kissing her shoulder, whispering, “Isobel, you make a man lose his senses.”
Sated, he settled against her. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought it was a good thing he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t fall in love with Isobel.
A very good thing indeed.
Chapter 16
Isobel curled up on her side, watching the sunlight stream through the ivory curtain and onto the floor of her room. She sighed, feeling as warm and weightless as the light itself.
Was this the way every woman felt after the first time?
Just saying his name in her head made Isobel thrill uncontrollably.
Beckett.
Her husband.
Last night he had taken her body with his own, truly making her his wife. And she had enjoyed every moment of it.
Her only regret was that she had awoken in this bed alone. How she had wanted his arms about her this morning, hugging her tightly. How she had wanted to feel his lips waking her with a kiss.
Well, it would not be the least good manners to be greedy, she admonished herself. Beckett did not have all day to lay in bed with her. Doubtless, he had to see to the business of the plantation.
There would be plenty of time for these wicked games between them.
Thoughts of Beckett danced in her head. The texture and warmth of his skin, the strength and thickness of his hands, the muscles in his forearms, the way his eyes held the light of the torches as he’d watched her dance—these were the things that made him so beautiful, so powerfully masculine.
Isobel sighed as she remembered his hard hands on her body, pressing her hips against his as they danced, and later as he had loved her here in this bed. Beckett had awakened something in her—something she had never known existed. It was mysterious and powerful and made her almost giddy.
Not like the distasteful business with Sir Harry at all.
The vile touch of Sir Harry had made her want to be sick.
She shuddered involuntarily.
Isobel rolled onto her side, clutching at the bed linen and pushing the memory away. She was safe from that blackguard, now. Safe with her husband, thousands of m
iles away. She would never be Sir Harry’s wife, and he would never be able to do that to her. No matter what he had threatened.
With Beckett it had been like a dream. She had not been afraid. She had welcomed her husband’s instruction in the art of physical love. And she had received him with an open heart.
Isobel pushed that thought away. It would not help matters and would only complicate things.
They had made love, not fallen in love.
They had not.
But had she?
Isobel recoiled from the answer to that question. Beckett had warned her that love was not part of the bargain. For him it would undoubtedly be true. But for her?
The thought sobered Isobel quicker than a dousing of cold water.
Oh, this was a mistake!
To fall in love with Beckett would be a terrible mistake. She had agreed to the terms of the marriage. They were to lead separate lives—he in London and she at Hampton Park. After this was done, she would spend the rest of her years alone on her estate, pining for a husband who had sworn never to love her.
And yet, it was too late. Last night had simply revealed the awful truth to her, removing the last barricade from her defenses.
It was true.
She was in love with him.
Isobel had criticized Beckett for keeping secrets from her, and now she would have to keep the truth from him forever.
No one ever said marriage was easy
* * *
The warm wind lightly caressed Isobel’s skin as she and Beckett rode on horseback down a quiet road that led to the beach. The smell of the sea floated on the breeze, and the sound of the gulls beckoned.
They ascended a rise and Isobel smiled as she beheld the breathtaking ocean beyond. The brilliant turquoise of the water held a vibrancy she had never before seen. The swirling colors reminded her of Beckett’s eyes—their beauty could bewitch and their depths could swallow one whole.
Beckett stopped his horse near some swaying palm trees and dismounted, reaching up to help Isobel off her mount. His hands on her waist felt firm and strong and made her stomach thrill.
“This seems a good spot.” Beckett guided her toward a grove of trees.
“The view is magnificent,” Isobel agreed, gazing at the white, sandy beach and at the water that stretched as far as she could see. This was a paradise.
Beckett took the horses to a nearby patch of grass and picketed them. With an unhurried air, he strolled back to the palm trees, spread out a blanket and plunked himself down.
Isobel joined him as he opened the basket that Josephine had prepared for them. A wonderful aroma drifted up from the delicious lunch of cheeses, roasted chicken and hearty brown bread. Beckett took a bite of cheddar and offered her some.
“No, thank you, I had a late breakfast,” she said.
Beckett grinned. “A late breakfast? Why were you so late to rise this morning?”
Feeling herself blush, Isobel looked away.
“Was that husband of yours keeping you up ’til all hours?”
Isobel met his eyes and saw the playful light dancing in them. Her stomach did flip-flops. “Yes, my lord, he did. He even woke me in the middle of the night to—”
“To….” Beckett moved closer to her.
“To continue with his—”
“His…?”
“His husbandly rights.”
“Husbandly rights?” Beckett scoffed, amused. “Is that what you call what I did to you? I thought I was making mad, passionate love to you, Isobel. And that does not even consider what you were doing to me.”
“Me?” she said, taken off guard. “I did nothing to you.”
“I beg to differ, my dear, you did quite a lot,” he insisted. “Such wiggling and squirming. What is a poor husband to do when his wife insists on being serviced at all hours? Ignore her demands upon his person? I ask you.”
Isobel gasped and felt her cheeks burning.
“Not very kind of me to tease you so, is it?” He leaned back and lifted a morsel of bread to his lips. “Is there much pain today?”
She paused, but answered truthfully, “A little.”
He nodded, saying, “I’m sorry to say, nature is often cruel to the fairer sex. For isn’t it the woman who must carry and bear the child that the coupling of the two sexes might create? You could be carrying my child right now, as we speak. Have you thought of that?”
Isobel’s heart skipped a beat. Last night had happened so fast, had been so intoxicating, she truly hadn’t considered it. She’d thought only of the pleasure, of the way he’d made her whole body hum with passion.
And now, she felt a primal rush of pride at the possibility of carrying her husband’s child. Beckett’s child.
“I see the idea sits well with you, and that pleases me,” he said. “Because as the earl and countess of Ravenwood, we have a duty to perform, Isobel. You must conceive my child and heir. And that could take months. In fact, my friends Lord and Lady Secord had to engage in this type of behavior every day for almost a year until Letty conceived. And the whole time, both she and George wore the silliest smiles about town. Come to think of it, they’re still wearing them. Well, that stands to reason, as they’ve had a child each year since their marriage four years ago. Would you object to doing our duty as devotedly?”
“I would not, my lord,” she said, shocked at her own honesty.
Beckett lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, gazing into her eyes. “Nor would I, my dear. But I shall be a good husband to you tonight, and let you recover from your first taste of the marriage bed. It would be rather boorish of me to insist on performing our marital duty so soon, with you still tender from last night’s loving.”
No, it wouldn’t! she wanted to say.
All this talk was making her skin positively tingle. Oh, why was he teasing her so?
Beckett turned his attention back to the picnic lunch beside him and picked up a leg of chicken. “Now that we’ve got that settled, I think I shall eat my lunch. I’m famished. Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”
“No, I’m fine,” she replied. “I’ll sit here and sketch.”
Isobel arranged her pencils and paper in a bid to avoid watching Beckett lick the crumbs from his fingers. Oh, why hadn’t she brought her fan? It was decidedly hotter than before.
Isobel concentrated on the white sheet of paper before her. She did not want to be seen staring at her husband like a love-sick cow. He must not see the raw desire in her eyes. Nor how easily he could arouse her passions.
She picked up her pencil and began to draw the face of this man who drove her to distraction. She glanced up at him occasionally, his features quickly appearing on the paper in front of her. There was the arch of the eyebrow that sometimes taunted her, the regal nose, the sensuous mouth in that wicked half-grin. But Beckett’s eyes seemed far too intense to accurately transfer to paper.
Isobel completed the portrait, regarding the finished result with a mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment. The drawing of Beckett showed a man brimming with raw sexuality. A man who could fulfill any woman’s desires. It looked positively indecent. She certainly didn’t want to show it to him.
But her reservations came too late.
He was already reaching for it.
Beckett studied the portrait silently.
“Well, what do you think?” Isobel said, brushing a flyaway hair from her face.
“Is this how you see me, Isobel?” he asked, pointedly.
She swallowed. “I suppose it is.”
“I look like a male courtesan!” he said, chuckling. “We should send it back to London and have it published in the Times. Imagine my reputation after the ton sees this, and learns my wife is the one who drew it”
Isobel snatched it back. “You will do no such thing.”
“Quite right.” Beckett agreed. “A full nude would cause a far greater scandal. We should get started on that directly.”
“What?” sh
e asked, horrified. “I most certainly will not draw you nude.”
“That, Madam, is your loss,” he said cheekily. “Shall we go down to the water? I’ll bet it’s warmer than the English Channel.”
Isobel paused, then nodded in agreement as Beckett began removing his boots and stockings. She slipped off her shoes and silk stockings, picked up her skirts and trotted down to the beach, with Beckett following behind. It would be good to get her mind off her husband’s teasing.
They splashed their legs into the warm, foamy water, and Isobel gloried in the refreshing feeling. The tropical breeze sighed against her bare legs as Isobel lifted her skirts to keep them out of the water. She turned to see Beckett staring at her.
“You’re making it damned difficult for me to keep my word about leaving you alone tonight,” he warned.
“Perhaps I don’t wish you to keep your word,” she replied, splashing through the water and back onto the sand.
Walking down the beach ahead of Beckett, Isobel felt deliciously light-hearted. She drank in the blue sky overhead with its white, puffy clouds. The heady scent of the island’s exotic flowers floated on the breeze.
Rounding a curve in the shoreline, Beckett stopped and looked down at the sand, kicking it with his toes.
“Now, what have we here?” he asked. “Footprints? Must have been four or five men at least, and they lead down to the water. Perhaps Mr. Cobb’s talk of pirates wasn’t just flummery after all. There, you can see where their boat was dragged up onto the sand.”
“Might it not be local fishermen?” Isobel said, seeing the marks in the sand. An unsettling shiver ran up her back.
“Mr. Cobb said the fishing is done farther down the coast, where the waters are calmer,” Beckett answered. “Of course, I’m most likely assuming the worst. But you must promise never to come down here alone.”
Isobel nodded. “I promise.”
It was not a difficult one to make.
They turned back toward the grove of trees, and as they neared the horses, Isobel tried to silence her fears.
Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) Page 13
