Sunrise with a Notorious Lord

by Alexandra Hawkins

  “I was lying the day that we argued.” With a hooded gaze he watched as she unfastened his trousers and tugged at the fabric until she had freed his cock. Vane was fully aroused, a condition that seemed to occur whenever she was close. “What we had—it was more than fucking. I always wanted more, long before I could admit it to myself.”

  Isabel leaned over him, her breasts spilling out of her torn nightgown. “I know.” She offered him the top of her head as her tongue tentatively licked the spot just beneath the head of his cock. “Nevertheless, I knew from the beginning you could not be mine.”

  Vane blindly gripped the sheets; his spine felt like it was about to break as he strained against her gentle, exploratory onslaught. He had not bothered to undress, but Isabel did not seem to mind since she was wholly focused on the thick length of flesh between his legs.

  “Wrong. I’m yours. Please!” he begged, his mind clouding as her front teeth grazed his sensitive flesh.

  Vane had tasted her arousal, but he had never invited Isabel to do the same: He had not wanted to frighten her with his carnal appetites. In truth, he loved the feel of a woman’s lips and tongue close around his cock, the gentle thrusting that coaxed her to take as much of him as she could handle. The heady thrill as his seed burst out of him while his lover’s throat worked to swallow every salty drop. How many nameless, faceless females had pleasured him in that manner? Even in the beginning, Isabel had meant more to him, so he had denied himself the indulgence out of respect for the woman he had fallen in love with.

  “Isabel, you do not have to. You have nothing to prove.”

  “Hush.” She shifted the position of her body so she could do more than impress him with her tongue.

  Vane gasped and his buttocks tightened as the head of his cock brushed over her lips, over the teasing scrape of her teeth, and then deeper still until he was cradled by her tongue.

  “Show mercy, Isabel!” He moaned as her inexperience proved to be more arousing than a courtesan’s skillful hand. “I am not made of stone.”

  He almost whimpered when she released him. Giving him a saucy look, she said huskily, “Feels a bit like hot marble to me.” Isabel circled her fingers around the base of his rigid staff and squeezed. “I am not certain what to do. Should I suckle you, much as you do my breasts?”

  His hips came off the mattress as her lips settled over the head and suckled him with enough pressure to make his eyes cross.

  “Yes.”

  Isabel’s fingers slid lower as she learned the shape and texture of him. More to herself, she said, “I like it when you stroke me with your tongue.” To prove her point, she teased the tip of his cock with a tantalizing flick. “Mmm, exotic and bitter. I’ve never tasted a man’s seed.”

  “You will if you persist,” he gritted out as she tried to nibble down from the throbbing length to his hard testicles. Her hand moved lower, curious about what must have felt like marbles shifting within the hairy sac. Bemused by her discovery, she giggled softly, making every fine hair on his body prickle. Her breasts brushed against his outer thigh, when her tongue wiggled experimentally over the wrinkled flesh.

  Vane seemed to have limited control when it came to Isabel, and the minx had provoked him to the point of madness. “Enough,” he said, roughly pulling her up until she covered him, and then rolling her onto her back. He removed his frock coat and sent it sailing over the side of the bed.

  There was laughter and a smidgeon of smugness in her eyes until he forgot about undressing and instead hastily sheathed himself in her slick channel. They both groaned as he filled her.

  “Temptress,” he muttered, kissing her and tasting himself on her tongue. His need to claim her with his body bordered on madness, but this was nothing new for either of them. Pulling him closer, Isabel bit the side of his jaw, and dragged his mouth to her neck. Her hips arched against his as he madly pounded his cock into her, each enthusiastic stroke drawing him deeper.

  Vane was out of his depth when it came to this woman, but he no longer cared. Seizing her by the hips, he surrendered himself completely to her. Isabel sobbed his name and clung to him as his hips gave one frenzied thrust. He buried his face against the side of her neck. The head of his cock seemed to explode as the constricting muscles of her sheath milked him for his seed.

  Vane held nothing back. His body spoke with an eloquence his tongue often lacked when he was around Isabel. She muddled his brain and left him crazed with lust. He wanted to spend the rest of his life pleasuring her in and out of bed.

  Still buried inside her, he cupped her face with his hand. “Marry me, Isabel.”

  His heart fluttered with panic when she sighed. “Why?”

  “Because I love you,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t think me honorable, my motives are selfish in nature. I cannot go a single day without you. I want to see you at my table in the morning and my bed each night. When our gazes meet across a crowded ballroom, everyone will know that you are mine. This is not about my mother or my duty to my family. This is about me … and you. About the life we can build together. What say you, Isabel? Are you daring enough to gamble with a Lord of Vice?”

  His heart almost stopped when she shook her head.

  “No, but I’ll take that risk with you.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I have loved you for so long, but it seemed hopeless. I have been miserable for weeks because Delia was fated to be your countess.”

  Vane swallowed his anger. His mother had much to answer for—her good intentions had almost cost him Isabel. “No chance of that,” he said, kissing her nose. “Since my heart was already ensnared by a brown-eyed temptress.”

  To demonstrate the power she had over him, Vane moved his hips against hers, a gentle reminder that he was far from finished with his lady.

  From the corner of his eye, Vane noticed that his furry namesake was clawing his way back onto the mattress. Large green eyes regarded him somberly as the kitten tried to use Isabel’s long hair for bedding.

  She laughed and extended her arm upward to pet the creature. “There, there, sweetheart, you will have to learn to share.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she was speaking to him or the cat. “I cannot believe you gave the beast my name,” he grumbled, eyeing the sharp claws warily. For once, he was grateful most of his flesh was covered.

  “Somehow it seemed appropriate.” She grinned up at him and wiggled her hips, which got his attention.

  A new wave of desire washed over him. The mischievous girl was playing with fire. “Perhaps you should give him another name.”

  His friends were never going to let him hear the end of it when they learned Isabel had named her cat after him. He could just imagine Frost’s raunchy jokes about Isabel’s partiality to little Christopher.

  “But I love Christopher,” she protested.

  So changing the name of the kitten could wait. Vane had more important tasks that deserved his attention. He reached for the nearest pillow. “And so you shall, my lady. Often and most thoroughly, if I have anything to say about it.”

  With her warm laughter filling the bedchamber, the pillow was the first to hit the floor with a soft plop. A very disgruntled cat landed on top of the feathered mound. Stepping off the pillow, the beast sat on the rug and began the meticulous task of cleaning himself.

  More than an hour would pass before it was safe to climb onto the bed again.

  Chapter Thirty

  “There is no sign that your sister slept in her bed.”

  Mrs. Dalman made the announcement in the calm, seemingly unflappable manner that the Thorne family had come to rely on over the years.

  Any other morning, Isabel would have been scandalized to be sharing an intimate breakfast with her lover. However, Delia always had a way of becoming the center of attention even when she wasn’t in the room.

  “Are you certain?”

  “There is no reason for her to be hiding,” the housekeeper said, worry
adding lines to her face. “You haven’t had time to write up your instructions for the day.”

  Mrs. Dalman was correct. Something was amiss. Isabel stood, but Vane caught her hand before she could leave his side. “Have you checked the parlor?” he asked the older woman. “She might have fallen asleep in one of the chairs.”

  Vane winked at Isabel.

  As far as Mrs. Dalman was concerned, Lord Vanewright had arrived at the Thornes’ cottage before dawn. Isabel saw no reason to correct the housekeeper. As it was, she could barely look her in the eye when she dwelled on how she and Vane had passed the long hours of the night. Jubilant and possessing unflagging vigor, the earl had made love to her with enthusiastic abandonment that left her aching and breathless. Then he stripped off the rest of his clothes. Isabel’s face warmed at the memory. Vane had left no inch of her flesh unexplored. The man was turning her into a wanton slave to his lust.

  Her telling blush revealed the direction of her thoughts. Vane gave her a smug smile and brought her hand to his lips. “Do not fret, love. We will find your sister.”

  Isabel nodded absently as her thoughts switched to her absent sibling. Delia tended to slip away when it suited her, but usually it was to avoid some unpleasant task. “Mrs. Dalman, could you check the back gardens and orchard? Vane—ah, Lord Vanewright and I will search the house again.”

  The housekeeper pretended not to notice the intimacy between her lady and the earl. “Yes, Miss Thorne.”

  When Mrs. Dalman left them, Isabel glanced at Vane. “Are you certain Delia returned to the parlor after she let you into the house?”

  Vane pushed away from the table and stood. “As I told you last night, she had been drinking when I pounded on your door. Delia invited me in and asked me to join her for a drink. I was anxious to see you so I politely declined. She directed me to the stairs and told me where to find you. Once she set me on my course, she returned to the parlor.”

  With Vane trailing after her, Isabel went up the stairs and checked the parlor. Nothing seemed out of place until she saw the bottle of port and two half-filled glasses. “I thought you declined the drink.”

  He peered over her shoulder and scowled. “I did.”

  “Vane, you were not the only visitor last evening,” Isabel said, rushing to the door. “Delia!” she yelled into the stairwell.

  “It’s too early to be shouting, Isabel,” her mother said sleepily from the landing above. “I have a terrible megrim and did not get a wink of sleep.”

  Isabel had trouble believing this: Sybil usually had a bottle of laudanum or brandy hidden away in her bedchamber for restless nights. “Perhaps you should go back to bed,” Isabel said, motioning with her hand for Vane to remain out of sight.

  “It was that bothersome cat. All that caterwauling. How could you even sleep in the same room with that beast?”

  Utterly mortified that her mother could have overheard her and Vane, Isabel was speechless. Vane, the scoundrel, threw his head back and started laughing.

  “Isabel, who is down there with you?” her mother asked, her voice sharpening.

  Ignoring Isabel’s silent plea, Vane stepped forward so Sybil could see him. “Good morning, Mrs. Thorne.”

  “Lord Vanewright! Good heavens, no one told me that you were here.” Realizing she was not dressed for visitors, her hand unconsciously checked to make certain her hair looked tidy under her lace cap. “Isabel, did you have Mrs. Dalman fix our guest a hearty breakfast?”

  “Yes, Mother. I have not been shirking my responsibilities,” she said, a slight edge to her tone.

  Only belatedly did Isabel notice that Vane’s appearance gave the impression he was the master of the house instead of a visitor. At her urging, he had donned his waistcoat and retied his cravat—though upon closer scrutiny, his shirt was wrinkled and the basic knot he had employed did not match the crisp folds his valet had pressed into the starched fabric. His hat, gloves, and frock coat were missing. Delia must have taken his hat and gloves when he had arrived, and Isabel suspected Vane’s coat was currently being used as a soft bed by her cat.

  “Forgive my early arrival, Mrs. Thorne,” Vane entreated, managing to appear humble and apologetic. “Nevertheless, your daughter has been an amiable and capable hostess.”

  The outrageous man then had the audacity to stroke Isabel’s backside.

  Fortunately, Sybil did not notice the shameless caress. “I shall come down and join you,” her mother announced, stepping out of view.

  “No!” When her mother returned and peered over the railing, Isabel explained, “What I meant to say is that there is no need to hurry. Lord Vanewright has finished his breakfast.” Feigning a calmness that seemed to be eluding her this morning, she continued, “Actually, we are looking for Delia. Have you seen her?”

  Her mother stifled a yawn with her hand. “No. Perhaps the cat’s cries kept her awake all night, too.”

  “Not a single word from you,” Isabel muttered under her breath as she stepped in front of Vane. To her mother, she said, “I am certain we will find her. Do you want to help us search the upstairs?” She knew her mother would decline.

  Sybil’s next words confirmed it. “You two can carry on without me. I think I will take your suggestion to heart, my dear, and return to my bed.”

  Isabel inclined her head. “Very well.”

  “By the by,” her mother called, halting Isabel and Vane before they could continue down the stairs. “Lord Vanewright, you never explained why you have come to Cotersage.”

  With his hand braced on the banister, Vane grinned at Sybil. “I thought that was obvious. I’ve come for Isabel. We’ll be marrying as swiftly as my mother can arrange it.” To Isabel, he said, “Do not be surprised if she has everything planned before our return.” He stared up at his future mother-in-law, who was beginning to look a little too pale for his liking. “If you behave yourself, we’ll even let you attend the wedding in London.”

  Her mother’s eyes rolled back into her head and she dropped like a stone.

  “Mother!” Isabel dashed up the stairs. “Good grief, Vane, did you have to be so blunt? If the news hasn’t killed her, the bump on her head might finish her off.”

  Downstairs, the housekeeper was calling her name. Isabel stuck her head over the side of the banister and shouted, “Mrs. Dalman, bring your vinaigrette. Mother has fainted.”

  She continued up the stairs, acutely aware that Vane had not abandoned her.

  As Isabel reached her unconscious mother and knelt at her side, she glanced up at Vane and was strangely comforted by his concerned expression. After years of looking after her family, she no longer had to shoulder the burden alone.

  * * *

  The smelling salts revived Isabel’s mother. Or perhaps it was the news that her eldest daughter was marrying well and she no longer needed Botly’s blessing and wealth to return to London. Calling for some tea, Mrs. Thorne returned to her bedchamber, most likely to repack her trunks. Vane did not mind as long as he did not have to ride in the same coach as his future in-laws.

  After Mrs. Dalman had assured Isabel that her mother was unhurt, Isabel resumed her frantic search for Delia. Vane knew what his lady was thinking. Isabel feared that her sister had lied about her feelings toward him and had run off when she realized that she could never have the man she loved. He snorted at the absurdity, but he suspected Isabel believed it. Mrs. Thorne and her daughter were used to having Isabel at their beck and call. Although it had not occurred to Isabel, Vane was certain Delia knew that her days of badgering and bullying her sister were numbered. If her bride did not have the heart to stand up to her family, then Vane was prepared to be the villain. No one was going to prevent him from marrying the woman he loved, and that included Isabel.

  To expedite the hunt, he had agreed to check the rooms upstairs while Isabel searched the downstairs. When Vane was finished, he found Isabel in her father’s study. She was sitting in one of the chairs with a paper in her hand. At her feet
was his furry namesake. The kitten was stretched out on his back, batting at dust motes.

  “Delia isn’t here.”

  Since they had searched the house from top to bottom, and Mrs. Dalman had done the same outdoors, the news hardly came as a surprise to him.

  Vane strode into the study, and gestured at the paper. “She left you a note?”

  She blinked and glanced down at the paper, startled to see it in her hand. Isabel was beginning to worry him. Her customary exuberance had evaporated in his absence. Whatever Delia had written had shaken Isabel.

  Vane crouched down beside her, and caressed her arm. “Tell me.”

  Wordlessly she offered him the letter. It only took him seconds to read the short note Delia had hastily written to her sister. Vane stood and crumbled it with a curse. “Foolish little girl! How could she run off with that bounder Ruddel?”

  “I daresay she loves him,” Isabel said simply, the corners of her mouth twisting upward into a sad smile. “And perhaps, he loves her as well. I caught them together more than once. His affection for Delia appeared to be genuine.”

  Unlike the pretty lies he had whispered in Isabel’s ear to win her trust and friendship.

  For his deception and casual cruelty, Vane wanted to beat the man senseless for bruising Isabel’s heart. “Listen to me, Isabel.” He grasped her by the upper arms and pulled her onto her feet. “It will take them time to travel to Scotland. I’ll get some men and we will ride after them. We can stop the marriage from—”

  “No.”

  His brows furrowed at his disbelief. “Are you telling me you want Delia bound to that cheating speculator? What do you think your mother will have to say about all this?”

  “She might surprise you and approve of the match. Mother was rather fond of Mr. Ruddel. You see, there was something about him that reminded her of my father.”

  Isabel looked away. She did not have to explain that she had felt the same about the man, and the ruthless bastard exploited a young woman’s loneliness so he could steal her father’s work.