Isobel bit back a smile. How grown up he sounded! “And what have you decided?”
“Well, I’ve only known him a little while, but he is my real da, and he treats me like a grown up, just like Hamish does. I told you that he promised to teach me how to use his bow and arrow, and he says that’s not a plaything for a little lad, but a grown up weapon.” He turned from the mirror and looked at her. “I’ll guess he’ll be my da soon enough.”
Isobel released a sigh of relief.
Delilah stormed back into the room. “Lands’ sakes, ’tis time. Come on, come on, or ye’ll be late for your own wedding!”
• • •
He had kissed her. At the conclusion of the brief ceremony, her new husband had taken her into his arms and kissed her as though he meant it. When he raised his head, he had looked into her eyes and whispered, “You look beautiful.”
And now, after the Wedding Scramble, where both Duncan and His Lordship had tossed coins into the air for the children, everyone walked toward the pier where the lavish reception was to take place. Isobel and Duncan, seated at a small table near the groaning benches that held the food, greeted everyone. Ian and the twins were somewhere, undoubtedly trying not to get into too much trouble.
Duncan leaned toward her. “The whole town must be here.”
Isobel soaked in his nearness, as happy as she’d ever been. “Aye.” A roar went up, and the duke made his way through the crowd and presented Isobel with the Loving Cup. She took it from him, lifted it to her lips, and took a small drink of the whisky. She tried not to cough as the fiery liquid slid down her throat. She then passed it to her husband. Their fingers touched, and she felt a tingle race up her arm. Their glances held as he took a drink, and then he passed it on to his brother. When all in the wedding party had partaken, the duke raised a glass to the couple.
“I’ll repeat the toast that was given to us at our wedding,” he replied, smiling warmly down at Rosalyn, who was at his side. “‘Lang may your lum reek.’ Or, may there always be a fire in your fireplace. I should mention that by the time that toast was given to us, most of the men were in their cups. I was never sure which fireplace they were talking about, for there was nudging and guffawing all around.”
Isobel blushed at the innuendo, which, she was certain, everyone thought was very bride-like, indeed.
Duncan reached under the table and took her hand; she was so shocked she almost pulled away. His thumb circled her palm. Her breathing was ragged. His thigh touched hers, and even through the fabric of their clothing, she felt the heat of him.
“I’m going to have you tonight, Lady Isobel,” he whispered, close to her ear.
She still felt silly having a title but refrained from giggling. “Are you, indeed?” she answered, hoping her voice didn’t shake.
“Are you going to stop me?”
She swallowed. “Big, strong man that you are, how could I?”
“You could tell me to go sleep with the devil.” His breath caused the curls by her ear to flutter, tickling her skin.
“I’m thinking you’ve already slept with the devil many times, my husband.”
His chuckle was warm, making her skin tingle. “How well you think you know me.”
“And I don’t?” she asked, anxious to keep the game going. “Did I marry a stranger?”
“About as likely as I married a virgin,” he volleyed, his face dangerously close to hers.
Without thinking, she answered, “I might as well be.”
He gave her a questioning look. “What?”
A drop of whisky had made her brazen. “Does having relations only once in my lifetime make me something less than virginal? I think not.”
He took her chin in his fingers and turned her face toward his.
“Once?”
“Aye,” she answered, her heart banging her rib cage. “With you.”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. She had shocked him. “I suppose it would be better for a bride in my position to have some experience, but I don’t, and I have you to thank for that.”
He released her and sat back against his chair and gazed off into the distance. Suddenly it was as if he didn’t even realize she was there.
Isobel was baffled. What had changed his demeanor? He couldn’t possibly be upset that she had never slept with another man. She knew men held virgins in high esteem; why wouldn’t he? Of course she hadn’t meant to blurt that out; it had just happened. But he should know that she had no experience at all. None.
• • •
Duncan had procured rooms for them at an inn on the other side of the island. There was a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket, plus fine cheeses and sweet and nutty breads.
Duncan watched as Isobel stepped further into the room. She still looked stunning, although she had changed into one of her own gowns, which complemented her hair and coloring. He was pleased that she still wore her brooch. He had said as much when they started their journey.
“I may even pin it to my nightgown. I thank you, it’s so beautiful.” There were actually tears in her eyes.
“Isobel, I—”
“Nae,” she interrupted. “Let me speak first.” She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know what would make a husband more pleased, that his wife had been with only him and only once in ten long years, or that she had many partners, which meant she probably knew what to do in the bedroom. I guarantee you, I do not. So—”
He pulled her to him and put a finger to her lips. “You are amazing.” He wanted to ask her how she could possibly have gone so long, but decided he didn’t need an answer.
“Nae,” she answered, “not really.” When he released her she crossed to the window, pulled the heavy drapes aside, and looked out into the night. “You see, after Ian was born, I decided I wanted nothing more than to raise him up to be a healthy, honest, and caring man. So I created a dead husband for me and da for him so he wouldn’t ask pesky questions about everything, and I proceeded to become the proper widow, raising my son the way I promised myself I would, sometimes even believing the lie myself.”
“And how did that work out for you?” he teased.
She bit back a smile. “Fine, until you came back into our lives.”
“Do you wish I hadn’t?”
“Of course I did, at first. But,” she added, “now that you’re here I truly hope we can have the home that Ian deserves.”
“You mean with two loving parents?”
She hung her head. “I know, I know—’twill not be an easy task to convince people we are close.”
“Why do you think they’ll need convincing, Izzy?”
Her head jerked up at the familiar sound of her name. Confusion and worry creased her features. “Because…because…”
He took her hand and pulled her toward the loveseat opposite the bed. “Do you dislike me, Isobel?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What? No! Of course I don’t dislike you.”
“And I don’t dislike you, either. Maybe we can start from there, all right?” It really wasn’t all right with him, but he wasn’t about to scare her off by telling her how much he wanted to undress her, drink in the luscious beauty of her body, take her to his bed, and make love to her until dawn.
Something flashed in her eyes, then was gone. “Aye,” she said with a smile, “I guess that’s a place to start.”
• • •
That night, as a storm raged on the coast, she lay in bed, lightning and thunder crashing nearby. When she was a girl, she thought the lightning would pierce the window and hit her. She would curl herself into a ball and put her hands over her ears.
Duncan had been such a gentleman that he’d taken the extra bedding and made himself a bed on the floor. Isobel grew cold under the luxurious covers, her fear of storms heightened and she shivered. “Duncan?”
She heard the bedding rustle. Actually, he seemed to move around a lot, looking for a comfortable position on the hard
floor, no doubt. “Yes?”
“’Tisn’t fair for you to sleep on the floor. The bed is big enough for both of us, and I’m cold. The bed is unfamiliar and I can’t relax. And truth be told, I hate storms.”
“You want me to join you in the bed?”
She rolled her eyes in the dark. “Isn’t that what I just said?” He seemed always to repeat her sentences back to her.
“I just wanted to make sure.”
He crawled in beside her and stretched out on his back. She felt his arm and the cloth. “You’re wearing the sark?”
“That’s what it’s for, isn’t it?”
“I have a feeling you’re not accustomed to such foolery as bedclothes.”
“Well,” he said, turning away from her, “there’s always a first time. Now, go to sleep Isobel.”
She continued to smile in the darkness. And suddenly she was sleepy and comfortable despite the storm outside. She turned the other way to face the door and soon fell asleep.
• • •
Duncan woke early; the sun was barely peeking through the drapes. He shook his head and sighed. This was a first. He’d spent the entire night in bed with a woman and had only slept. He eased his bag of tricks into a more comfortable position; they weren’t used to it.
Isobel slept on her side, away from him. What folly it would be to spoon her while she slept! Could he catch her off guard? She could push him out of bed, he supposed, but he had to take the chance.
Slowly he moved toward her until she rested in the hammock of his body, her nightgown soft against him. He placed his hand on her hip, and when she didn’t wake, he moved it around, over her stomach and up to her breasts, which were resting on her arm.
He felt her stir, and then stiffen. He waited to be elbowed in the gut. Surprisingly, she relaxed a little against him. “Izzy?” he whispered against her ear.
“Tell me what to do.” Her voice shook.
“Relax and try to enjoy it.” He stroked her stomach and her breasts through the fabric of her nightgown, enjoying the tensing of her nipples as he did so. “I have thought of these many times, Izzy.” He gently squeezed her breast, rubbing his thumb over the taut nipple.
“Ye have?”
“Yes.”
She moved, allowing him more access. “What else have you thought about?” Her voice was timid.
“You’re sure you want to know?”
“Aye.”
“Ever since the first time I’ve wondered about the color of this,” he said, moving his hand to just above her thighs.
“The color?”
“Is it as red as this?” He ran his hand over her head, nudging a curl around his finger.
“’Tis not red, remember?” She sounded more amused than upset.
“Ah, yes. Nutmeg.”
She chuckled. “Nae, not nutmeg, you fool.”
“Cinnamon?”
She shook her head, continuing to laugh. “Nae.”
“I just may have to take a look and find out for myself,” he threatened.
“Aye, and if you can remember the color, I’ll not call you a fool ever again.”
With that he threw the covers back and lifted her gown, slowly exposing creamy calves and smooth, white thighs. A burst of color appeared, rich and thick and… “Ginger.”
“Aye, ginger.”
He was hard and ready and knew he had to hold back. He laid his head on her stomach and breathed, trying to get control of himself, wanting desperately to put his mouth on her fiery mound and breathe in her scent.
She timidly touched his hair, stroking his head with her fingers. “Duncan?”
He lifted his head and looked at her; her eyes were heavy with arousal. “Yes?”
“What do we do next?”
He was holding himself together by sheer force. “What do you want to do next?”
She squirmed. “My nightgown is riding up; ’tis uncomfortable.”
“Then we must remove it.”
She was quick to do so, and when he saw the glory of her breasts he bent over her and took a nipple in his mouth, listening to her harsh intake of breath. “I remember the beauty of these,” he said, nuzzling her breast with his lips.
“Oh, I feel that all the way down here.” She touched her mound briefly with her fingers.
He cupped her and dipped a finger inside; she was wet. “Here?”
She spread her legs a bit and lifted herself off the bed. “Aye.”
Suddenly she pushed his hand away and sat up.
Afraid he’d gone too far, he asked, “Izzy? What did I do?”
There was still arousal in her gaze. “The sark.”
He glanced down at the nightshirt she had made him. “What about it?”
“Will you take the blasted thing off, please?”
He grinned at her, and pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. “Better?”
She reached out and touched him, her fingers moving over his skin, stopping briefly at the scar near his shoulder. Suddenly she bent and kissed it. “I’m sorry you were wounded.”
“I have a bigger wound that needs tending.” He pressed himself against her, letting her feel his hard length.
She sighed. “I remember that.”
He returned to the lushness of her sweet body, moving his finger around and around her nether lips. She raised her bottom off the bed, her thighs quivering. “Please…”
He moved between her thighs and poised himself at her opening. She spread her legs wider, inviting him in. He eased in, finding her tight, then went in deep and stopped, trying to gather patience.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and began to rock against him. The rhythm was all he needed. They rocked together, the cadence of their movements driving them both higher and higher toward ecstasy.
When she cried out, he kissed her, muffling the sound. She continued to weep and laugh, tears running down into her ears. Finally able to speak, she said, “Oh, my God.”
Duncan let himself go, felt the release and rolled her over on top of him. They both breathed heavily; Isobel’s eyes were closed. Her cheeks were flushed, as was her neck and chest. She opened her eyes. “Oh, my.” She put her cheek against his chest and relaxed against him.
Oh my indeed, he thought as he stroked her buttocks and hips. He certainly was no novice to lovemaking, but it was hard for him to compare this morning to anything else he had ever experienced. The thought scared the hell out of him.
And, as so often happened when his blood ran hot, the scar at his shoulder began to throb.
Chapter Seventeen
Bayous of Louisiana—December 1864
Another two weeks had passed, and Duncan was certain he had Kitten on his side. She was an excellent actress, giving Daddy Beau no reason to think she would betray him, even going so far as to take his abuse as if she deserved it. So far, Duncan had kept his mouth shut, but after seeing Kitten limp around the cabin one morning, he couldn’t stand it any longer.
Daddy Beau lumbered into the cabin from outside, sweat already staining his shirt. When Duncan noticed him toss the limping Kitten a glance, he said, “Does it make you feel like a big man?”
“What’s that, boy?”
“Do you feel like a big man when you hit a little girl?”
Daddy Beau reached the cot and raised one white caterpillar eyebrow. “You better watch your mouth, son. How I treat my woman is my business.”
“Is she really your woman, old man? She’s young enough to be your granddaughter.”
Daddy Beau chuckled. “Jealous?”
Duncan looked away. It killed him to be so damned helpless. “I don’t have to beat on my women to keep them interested,” he murmured.
Daddy Beau took a step closer to the cot. “No, I bet you don’t, boy. Do the ladies swoon over your brown pecker?” He leaned in closer still and Duncan smelled the man’s filth. He said in a raspy voice, “I heard tell that Injuns got teenie weenies, boy.”
Duncan knew he was being pushed. “Haven’t you heard, old man? It’s not the size that counts; it’s what you do with it.”
Daddy Beau actually threw back his head and laughed. “Boy, I’m gonna miss you when yer gone.”
“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Duncan answered.
The old man studied his prisoner, his eyes slits in his head. “No, I don’t imagine it is.”
Most evenings, when Daddy Beau was sleeping off his liquor on the rickety front porch, Kitten helped Duncan strengthen his weaker ankle. After a while, he knew he could at least put weight on it when he had to. And, because Kitten had quit putting a sleeping potion in his food, Duncan had to feign sleep so the big man wouldn’t get suspicious. But one morning, something changed.
Daddy Beau strutted to the bed, his thumbs in his empty belt loops, his belly hanging over his pants, and leered down at him. “Time’s near ready, boy.” He whipped the covers off Duncan’s body and studied his shackled legs. “Swelling’s down. Good sign.” Duncan reached for the blanket and covered himself. “We got a meetin’ place, boy.”
Duncan tried to steady his beating heart. “When is my doomsday?”
The fat man laughed, big and hearty. “Now, you expect me to tell you that? I thought it’d be a nice surprise for ya. I don’t want you worrying over when your last day on earth is. Although you already know they’ll prob’ly blast a hole through your heart.”
Or hang him, like they nearly hanged Fletcher. “All right, let’s just get it over with.” He pretended to struggle as he sat, appearing weaker than he was.
“Easy, boy, not today.” Daddy Beau belched loudly and left Duncan in a very tentative state of relief.
That night Kitten moved quietly around the cabin cleaning up after the fat man, her usual task. When she finished, she sat on the side of the cot so she faced the door and could watch for any movement. She leaned in close. “It’s going to be the day after tomorrow,” she whispered. “We don’t have much time.”
Duncan couldn’t rise to any level of excitement. “How in the hell are we going to do this?”
She scooted closer. “I’ve been putting some things aside that we’ll need once we’re in the bayous.” She cast a quick glance at the door, then continued, “Dried meat, water, and alligator oil. If we don’t grease up, we’ll be eaten alive by mosquitoes.”
The Scoundrel's Pleasure Page 17
