Very soon, she would have to make a decision on where she wanted to live and she had been hoping that he would have asked her again, by now, to be his wife. She could not blame him for hesitating, though. The situation was fraught with problems.
She got back into bed, covering her face with her hand, and willing the heat to recede. She did not know how she would look Emmanuel in the eye ever again.
* * *
Emmanuel could not stop thinking about Isabella. From what he had seen earlier, she was sufficiently recovered that they could…perhaps…make use of the special license he had obtained weeks ago.
He sipped his brandy as he pondered the advisability of asking her to walk down the aisle. Would she even want to, with everything that stood between them?
You’ll never know until you ask. That voice that sounded like his mother spoke up in his head. He sighed, pulling one of his monogrammed sheets of paper toward him and wrote a note upon it. He sealed it with his official crest before summoning the footman outside his study door.
“Take this to the Peregrine estate at once.”
* * *
Sarah burst into the dower house, startling Isabella considerably.
“A note has arrived from the Duke,” she beamed at Isabella delightedly.
Isabella merely raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yes. He invites us to dine with him and his family tonight.”
“Us?”
“Yes!” she did a little skip, “Oh, I must write to mother at once so she can have your gown prepared.”
“My gown?”
“Yes, silly! For the wedding.”
Isabella’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”
Sarah was already shaking her head. “No, no, no. There is only one reason he would issue a formal invitation like this and that is to make good on his proposal.”
Isabella got to her feet, coming to stand flush against Sarah. “We will not bring it up if he does not, understood?”
Sarah lifted her hands in airy agreement. “Of course we won’t. What do you take me for? A beggar?”
She whirled on her heel and trotted off. “I must find something to wear and so should you,” she called.
Isabella sighed, pulse beating a tattoo of hope and fear in her throat.
Is this it?
“God, I hope so.”
* * *
Dinner was a quiet affair, just the Duke, his aunt and uncle, the Peregrines, and Isabella. She felt self-conscious in her green gown, not having realized just how much weight she had lost in her weeks of recovery. Emmanuel watched her as if she hung the moon and it made her even more uncomfortable.
He did not keep them in suspense long, for as soon as the last course was cleared, he stood up to make a speech.
“Lords and Ladies, you must be wondering why I have gathered you all here today.” His eyes drifted toward Isabella and he smiled. “Well, a while ago, in happier times, I asked this beautiful lady to join with me in matrimony. I will ask again tonight. Miss Isabella Addison, will you be my wife?”
It was all Isabella could do not to jump up and dance a jig. She smiled at Emmanuel, wide and happy, before putting her hand to her bosom. “Why, Your Grace, this is so sudden.”
He grinned at her, stepping away from his seat and coming around the table to stand in front of her with his hand held out for her to take. She slipped her hand into his, her ring glinting in the firelight. He looked down at it, and then up at her.
“Do you still…?” he asked.
“I do.”
He brought her finger to his lips and kissed the ring, never breaking eye contact. “So do I.”
Epilogue
Consummation
“Are you going to tie me to the headboard?”
It took Emmanuel too long to comprehend Isabella’s question, so distracted was he by her attire. Rather than a nightgown, or even lacy, yet demure chemise, Isabella was in Emmanuel’s discarded shirt from the ball.
It covered everything while still leaving her exposed, the fire backlighting her to perfection so that he could see every curve of her body through the thin material, perky nipples standing to attention, her bare legs begging him to wrap them around his waist.
He took a deep breath.
To think that Isabella had entertained the notion that Emmanuel would not want to marry her, and yet she still allowed him so many liberties, including risking her reputation to be alone with him…it boggled Emmanuel’s mind. He was not worthy of her—he knew that.
Emmanuel had brought some rope with him, pink silk, which he set on the bed beside Isabella.
“Shall I?”
“Well, you did promise that we would try this on our wedding night.”
“Yes, I did. I expect most marriages do not begin with this extreme, so I thought I’d better ask.”
The idea of binding Isabella made Emmanuel uncertain. He had no desire to terrorize her or frighten her into obedience. If Isabella sent him from the chamber now, Emmanuel would go. But there was still something terribly erotic about her wanting to try this, with him.
“Is it painful?”
“No.”
“Have you actually—?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“We need not if the idea disturbs you.”
“No, I wish it.”
Emmanuel smoothed Isabella’s mussed hair and then reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly as he stared into Isabella’s eyes. She watched him, back arched as he undid the last button.
Isabella blushed, unearthly in the sliver of moonlight through the window, as she allowed Emmanuel to slide the shirt off her shoulders leaving her bare to his eyes. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at Emmanuel with wide eyes.
Emmanuel set his shirt aside before using a silken kerchief to blindfold her. Isabella shivered as the knot was tied, but insisted it was neither too tight nor too frightening. In fact, it was quite liberating—the book she had read did not mention that.
He had the sense Isabella was impatient with his attempts to be comforting. Emmanuel lifted Isabella’s arms and wrapped the rope about her wrists. It was simple enough to tie her securely, and when Isabella pulled, there was not much give, and she was well and caught.
And entirely at Emmanuel’s mercy.
He traced over Isabella’s arms, to begin with, down the insides of pale wrists, over her arms and shoulders, smooth and silken, except where there was a rough bump from her knife wound. It had scarred over but was still quite prominent. He stared at it, tears misting his eyes. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss upon it, holding onto her as she jerked away.
“Shh. It’s only me.”
“I know. Let’s not think of that tonight.”
He nodded, even if she could not see him.
Isabella’s whole body was tight with cold, skin pebbled with gooseflesh, nipples red and hard. Her stomach was drawn taut as she held her breath. She bit at her lip to keep quiet as he licked and sucked his way down her body.
Isabella’s pulse through her skin was racing.
Emmanuel bent down to kiss her forehead, and then her nose, and then her lips. He lingered there, Isabella’s mouth slow against his own, Isabella’s body arched against his hands.
He ought to say something, to describe the beauty of Isabella’s every feature to her, but words failed him utterly. Instead, Emmanuel stripped off his waistcoat and cravat, and then seated himself at Isabella’s side; he turned her to expose her flushed nipples.
Isabella shuddered.
“Shall I mark you mine?” he murmured into her skin, teeth grazing her tender flesh.
“Not yet…”
Emmanuel let his mouth wander, stilling Isabella’s body with his fingers. The ruffles on his shirt scraped over her skin as he lay atop her, laving Isabella’s collarbone, before laying butterfly kisses, in lazy spirals over her heart. In the two months since their engagement, and then her accident, Isabella had l
ost a little weight.
She needs feeding up, Emmanuel thought, fingertips trailing up Isabella’s side.
“Please,” Isabella said. “Emmanuel.”
“Yes?”
“Could you…?”
“Could I…?”
Isabella scowled at him, though she couldn’t see Emmanuel through her blindfold.
Emmanuel laughed and had mercy on her. He turned his attention to Isabella’s pert nipples, which drew a shudder out of her. Isabella was blooming, pink from her cheeks down to her soft stomach.
Only Emmanuel’s weight over her body was holding her still. The scent of rosewater lingered on her skin. Isabella must have bathed in it.
Emmanuel could scarcely imagine it, Isabella fumbling to unlace herself of her bodice, perhaps undoing her garters before sliding her stockings down. Taking her gloves off, letting her hair down with her petticoats all crumpled on the floor. Stretching herself out on the bed, laying herself out like a pagan sacrifice of old.
“Why did you wear my shirt?” Emmanuel asked, between sucking marks into Isabella’s bosom and belly. He could taste the sweat on Isabella’s skin. “I seem to recall being billed for your trousseau.”
“I read it in a novel about a pirate and the lady he kidnapped in the high seas. She wears his shirt because she has nothing else and it drives him mad with lust.” Isabella said breathlessly.
She groaned as Emmanuel caught the tip of one nipple between his teeth. “I think, ah…I think it worked.”
Emmanuel grinned. “It most certainly did. Thank you for making the night memorable already.”
“You’re most welcome, Your Grace,” Isabella panted. “Don’t stop—”
Emmanuel dipped his tongue into Isabella’s navel, dragging his nails over Isabella’s hips. He drew a line down from Isabella’s navel, low over her belly, down until he was just touching Isabella’s center, so lightly that Isabella tried to lift her hips to meet Emmanuel’s hand.
“Do you like it?”
“Oh…I cannot tell for you have stopped. Like I told you not to.”
Emmanuel kissed deliberately between Isabella’s thighs, where she was damp and delicious.
“I would suspend no pleasure of yours, my love,” he said between kisses, “but I want to take it slow and give you everything that you deserve tonight.”
“And I want to do the same for you,” Isabella panted. “I want to be a wanton maiden for you if that is what you desire, or a virginal—oh!”
She keened as Emmanuel started to suck gently at the swollen bud that crowned her sex, laving it with his tongue. The way Isabella tasted made Emmanuel drunker than any brandy he had ever drunk; was headier than the best wine. Her thighs trembled as she tried to rut against Emmanuel’s mouth. Her pulse was erratic between Emmanuel’s lips, her harsh breathing like music to Emmanuel’s ears.
Emmanuel continued his ministrations, ceaseless like the oncoming tide until Isabella’s breath quickened. Then Emmanuel lifted his head.
“Finish it,” Isabella hissed.
“You finish. Tell me, how long have you been reading in preparation for this?”
Isabella’s expression was wildly displeased, but one soft lick coaxed her to speak.
“I—I started because I was bored of lying around all day and I had a lot of time to think about…I wanted to learn more—ah, to make sure that what happened in the wood was—”
Emmanuel stopped again when Isabella trailed off. “Was what?”
“I wanted to make sure it was not some flight of fancy or one-time thing,” Isabella admitted. Emmanuel put his mouth on her again and set to pleasuring her in earnest, two fingers pressed deep inside her. “I only—I knew that I—I wanted to explore my own body, to know what it was that set off that spark, whether I could get there without you or—” Her heels scraped against the sheets as Emmanuel gripped her hips and buried his tongue inside her alongside his fingers.
Isabella’s scream of pleasure was no doubt heard throughout the Manor.
Emmanuel caressed Isabella as she composed herself, her delicate ankles, calves and knees, and then her face. Isabella did not say a word as Emmanuel untied the blindfold and tossed the mangled ribbon to the side, then undid the bonds around Isabella’s delicate wrists. She reached for him, and Emmanuel settled beside her on the luxurious bed, intertwining their limbs like ivy entangling around a tower.
Isabella tried to put her hand beneath Emmanuel’s shirt, and without thought, Emmanuel batted it away.
“Emmanuel?”
“Don’t.”
“Why?” Isabella asked, incredulous. Her brows were drawn. “You won’t even undress?”
Emmanuel was a man who knew what he looked like. The scars on his body culminating in an ugly stump of a leg. Where Isabella’s body was loveliness personified, Emmanuel’s had the ugliness of his youthful accident and the experience of living with a prosthetic limb. There was nothing attractive about his naked body. He had no desire to show Isabella his mutilated self, unclothed, and see the pity in her eyes, watch her recoil rather than touch.
Isabella was too kind to tell him he was hideous, but if she thought it and could not hide it…
“Not tonight.”
“But why?” Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “Are you in pain?”
“I am fine, really. There is no need for—”
“Why are you hiding from me?”
“I do assure you, Isabella—”
“No. Do not lie to me, Emmanuel.” She was glaring at him with lips stretched in a grim line.
Emmanuel drew Isabella close enough to kiss; Isabella’s lashes cast long fine shadows on her cheeks as her eyes fell shut at Emmanuel’s touch. She let Emmanuel kiss her, and stroke her soft hair, and draw his wrists over Isabella’s neck to scent her. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply of her essence.
“Would you let me mark you mine?”
“I will let you…when you undress.”
“Perhaps I am deformed.”
“Emmanuel, I want you to hear me clearly. I married you, knowing that you are a one-legged fool. Now I need to see my husband in all his glory. Will you deny me?” Isabella rubbed her wrist against Emmanuel’s neck in return. “If it is my—my lack of experience you fear, I did ask for advice and—”
“You asked for what?”
“Sarah recommended a book.”
“Your sister supplied you with erotica?”
“Well, I wanted to be prepared!”
Emmanuel flushed in spite of himself. He found Isabella’s boldness most gratifying. She had no scruples about bodily pleasures and he thought it might bode well for their marriage if only he—or they—could get over this one hiccup. He knew it was nothing but his pride holding him back; but for a long time, pride was all he had. It was difficult to trust that this wonderful thing he had found would survive exposure to his stump.
However, if Isabella could be as brave as to research, and then allow him to take all these liberties with her, surely Emmanuel could brave merely removing his clothes…and his wooden leg. He must be a good husband and meet Isabella where she was.
“Very well,” Emmanuel mumbled. He turned his face into Isabella’s hand, and let Isabella support him for a moment. “I will undress if you wish.”
“I do wish.”
“Mm.”
With great reluctance, they detached themselves. Isabella sat up to watch as Emmanuel unbuttoned the neck of his shirt and untucked it. He gripped the hem, palms clammy with nerves, all too aware of Isabella’s eyes upon him, wide with emotion, dark as the night sky, flecks of moonlight caught in his pupils.
He threw the shirt on the floor.
Isabella stared at him intently for a number of seconds. Each moment her eyes were fixed on Emmanuel was a nerve-wracking eternity. Emmanuel hadn’t been undressed in front of another human being in a long time.
His manservant was aware of his predilections; his past lovers, unattached to him as they
were, did not question it. Emmanuel had only looked at his bare naked self when he needed the reminder, late at night with cold sweat beaded on his brow from the nightmares, that he did not die.
Isabella reached out, fingertips almost brushing Emmanuel’s skin, but did not touch him.
“Take it all off?”
A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 28
