She felt a deep sense of gratitude at how her life had changed overnight yet she could not thank the one man who had made it all possible. The balance of power was a strange thing and at the moment she felt they both held their own cards. She was fearful of relinquishing any of it by highlighting her indebtedness to him.
‘Good,’ was all her husband said? He moved over to the fireplace and drew one of the large chairs closer to the fire.
‘Come sit with me for a while and tell me a little about yourself, Isabelle. Your family for example.’ His look was shrewd. ‘I noticed you did not invite your brother and his wife to remain with us for dinner the night of our wedding. Am I right in suspecting there is something of a rift between you and your family?’
Isabelle shrugged. ‘I was never particularly close to my brother and though it pains me to say it, I feel I can never forgive him for being overly influenced by his wife in arranging what turned out to be a disastrous marriage.’
‘I can understand why you would feel that. And your parents? Do you remember much of them?’
‘Very little of my mother sadly. She died shortly after my sister was born due to complications that were not recognised at the time.’
Images of blond hair and a soft smile floated fleetingly through her mind, and as always when that happened she clung to them, trying to draw them more fully into her conscious mind. But as always, they were far too nebulous to form into a perfect picture. She had been four years old when her mother had died and it grieved her immensely that she simply had no memories of her at all, apart from a few trinkets of jewellery and a bottle of scent that had surely lost its original fragrance over the twenty two years that Isabelle had possessed it.
‘My father was a good man though and I remember him well. He sadly died in a riding accident when I was seventeen years old.’
‘So you have been something of an orphan these last few years?’
‘It certainly feels that way, although I look forward to re-acquainting myself with my sister, Louisa soon. She is expecting her first baby next March as you know and …’ she broke off, wondering if he would think she had overstepped her mark. ‘I trust you will not object, but I have offered to let her come to us for her confinement so that I may help her when the time comes?’
Guy lifted an amused eyebrow. ‘As long as you are not expecting me to participate in any shape or form, you are of course free to do as you wish.’
Silence fell in the room before Isabelle found herself asking, ‘And you? What of your life and family?’
‘My mother you have seen enough of to form your own opinion. But suffice to say she has been a staunch ally for as long as I can remember. My father too was a good man, who lived for my mother. My sister, Claudia, you met on our marriage day. She is six years younger than I - twenty six this year. We do not have that much in common but we get along well enough.’
Isabelle stifled a yawn.
‘Either you are tired or I am boring you,’ Guy said with a smile. ‘Do not let me keep you up if it is the former.’
‘It is definitely the former, and you are right. I do find myself quite fatigued.’
She rose from the table. She didn’t like to think of what might be coming next. Of what he might be expecting. All she could think was that if she retired sooner than he, she could pretend to be asleep when he came in and he would not disturb her.
He too rose and said in a low voice. ’Thank you for not insisting on separate rooms for our stay. It would have raised my mother’s eyebrows without a doubt and we would not then have escaped her ceaseless questions. I will leave you ample time to prepare yourself.’
For what? she wondered agitatedly, as she left the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As she got to the top of the stairs she was overtaken by an attack of nerves so violent that it threatened to get the better of her. The sexual act was something she had been able to dismiss from her mind for nearly a year now. Her husband had been unwell for several months before his death and she had thanked God that he had been disinclined to perform in that way - apart from that last time.
She tried to shut her mind to that memory, aware of the sense of shame that always accompanied it, but this time it would not be suppressed. She remembered how she had walked into his room to retrieve his lunch plates, to find himself lying in his bed stroking himself with rapid motions. His eyes were glazed and unfocused as they turned to where she stood in the doorway.
‘Take me in your hand and pump me, Isabelle,’ he had grated, his voice thick with his aroused emotions.
‘It is not good for you, in your condition,’ she had replied, walking into the room.
‘I do not believe in doing what is good for me. It is not good for me to have no satisfaction, wife. Do as I say or I will get your chambermaid to do it.’
This was always his threat and Rosie was only a young girl still. Isabelle could not condemn her to such an act of depravity.
Her expression grim, she moved over to her husband’s bedside and took hold of his shaft. She’d had many years of practice at this and her fingers worked swiftly and competently. She closed her mind to his grunts as he thrust himself pathetically into her hand. ‘Look at me,’ he rasped. ‘Watch me.’
She did so, but the disgust in her eyes turned to alarm as she took in the puce colour of his face, the bulging eyes.
Her fingers slowed.
’Don’t stop,’ he panted. ‘Faster.’
She feared that this was not good for him, that she should stop, but some demon within her shut her mind to that knowledge as she followed his bidding. She continued to slide her fingers along his puny length and he bucked all the harder. She could not remove her eyes from his face, and when his upper body suddenly heaved from the pillow, a great grunt of pleasure escaping him, she watched disconcerted as with one final gasp he collapsed back onto the bed, his body suddenly still.
She stared at him shocked. She could perceive no breathing, no movement. His spill, little as it was, lay wetly in her hands, the only evidence that up until a minute ago he had been a living, breathing mortal.
It took no doctor to tell her he was dead. Had she killed him with her manipulations, she thought in horror? Did that make her a murderess? She had not intended to kill him. Though she had suspected it was not good for him, she had not expected him to die.
But she could feel no sorrow, no remorse as she stood there looking down at him. He had died as he had lived, and she would not mourn his passing.
She had carefully cleaned him up, removed all evidence of his final moments and then exited the room to calmly inform the household of his demise.
But it was as if something within her had died that day. A little like being on a strong sedating drug. She had felt no emotion at the time and no true emotions since. She felt numbed inside and out - as if life happened around her and she was no part of it, merely an observer.
Up in hers and Guy’s room, she crushed the memory. If ever she got to the time with her new husband where she took him in her hands, at least she could be confident that he would not die on her. He was undoubtedly made of sterner stuff.
Which was a concern in itself.
She allowed her maid to help her undress and prepare for bed - finding the soothing action of the brush passing through her hair, a balm to her tattered nerves. ‘Is there anything else, your Grace requires?’
‘No Lucy, thank you. I can see to myself now. That will be all.’
When Guy knocked on Isabelle’s door some thirty minutes later, she heard him, but kept her eyes tightly closed and made no response. He walked into the room and she could sense him standing by the bed looking down at her. She had made sure to tuck the bedclothes tight around her body so that all that was showing was her head and she prayed to God that in the dim light he would not notice the pink flush of colour she could feel stealing into her cheeks.
She was aware of every sound he made as he moved quietly around the adjoining dressing
room. She heard him dispense with his valet’s service and then felt the dip in the other side of the bed as he sank in next to her. What had seemed a comfortably large bed when first she had viewed it critically, now seemed more the space of a child’s cot as she felt his large and solid length settling in beside her. Her body was taut as a wire as she lay there and waited.
Nothing happened. He turned on his side away from her and all was still. A few minutes later, the quiet steady rhythm of his breathing told her that he was asleep.
She did not know what time it was when she awoke - only that the dim light of dawn filtered through the curtains into her room, and that although her face felt cold with the crisp December air whipping around her head, her body felt gloriously warm as it had never done in a bed before. The reason for that soon became clear as slowly she registered the fact that she was lying on her side with Guy’s warm body curved to her own behind her; one of his arms draped loosely across her waist. He was clearly in a deep state of sleep and she lay there for a moment uncertain of what to do.
Her first thought was to register the unusual fact that she was not instinctively scrambling away from him with the need to be free, but this was followed very quickly by the next, which was that she undoubtedly should be if she wished to avoid any intimacy between them. But if she did try to draw away, not only did she run the risk of waking him, but she would also have to forego this wonderful cosy warmth, so different to the usual chill she struggled with at night.
Slowly the tension eased from her body. It was so comfortable. She could not bring herself to do anything that would change that.
When Guy awoke the next morning, it was to the familiar though rather distant memory of his arms wrapped around a deliciously female form, his body tucked into hers in a way that instantly made him harden. Of its own volition, his hand slid up to cup the warm breast beneath the cotton gown. It was unexpectedly full and soft and he squeezed it sleepily, nuzzling the soft neck so exquisitely exposed to him at the same time.
‘Oh.’
He felt the form in his arms stiffen in outrage and immediately he became alert, recognising the hair on the pillow, remembering where he was and the circumstances.
His hand stilled, but it did not withdraw.
‘I’m sorry, Isabelle,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘For a moment I forgot …’ he almost said, ‘who you were,’ but fortunately recollected himself just in time. ‘Myself,’ he said instead.
‘That’s as may be, Sir.’ Isabelle’s voice was frosty. ‘But if you would care to remove your hand?’
He found himself surprisingly reluctant to do so. Her breast was perfectly formed he felt - not too large and not too small, and it seemed to fit the palm of his hand perfectly. And as for the rest of her body. He was shocked to discover that her slender form tucked so intimately into his had given him the most rampant of erections. He frowned, struggling to control his bodily cravings. This was Isabelle, not Angelica he reminded himself. His cold and distant wife - not his languid and seductive mistress.
‘Of course,’ he muttered abruptly, dragging himself away from her. And within seconds he had removed both his hand and his offending body from the bed, seeking the privacy of the bathroom that he might deal with his needs in private.
Isabelle released her breath slowly, acknowledging his withdrawal with a mixture of relief and surprise. She had felt his manhood, so hard and erect, pressing into her and could scarcely believe that instead of taking her he had left the bed.
There was no denying she was glad of it, but there was another emotion she could not so easily identify. It surely could not be a sense of deprivation? Yet that was how it felt.
She frowned, trying to comprehend it. And then the reason hit her. Of course, it was because now the comfort and warmth of his body had gone, there was no ignoring the chill that so swiftly penetrated her bones. She sighed her satisfaction at this reasoning. That was it of course. It had nothing to do with the strange ache that seemed to have settled in her bosom where his hand had so intimately caressed her.
Throwing back the bedclothes she rose quickly from the bed and rang for her maid.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Grand-Mama, we are here.’
The sound of children squealing in the hall and the clatter of footsteps marked the arrival of Guy’s sister and her family.
‘Now our peace and quiet is over,’ the Duchess said with a smile, rising to her feet.
And indeed it was. Claudia seemed scarce to take time for breath as she regaled events that had occurred since last they’d visited, recounting numerous stories about the children and her husband until Isabelle felt she knew them all quite intimately.
After lunch, the Dowager, saying that she needed some time for a little solitude, suggested they take the children for a brisk walk in the grounds. ‘It will tire them out for bed so that they sleep more easily in a different house,’ she said.
‘Do you not think it a little cold?’ Claudia’s husband, Lionel, remarked dubiously.
‘Not at all. It is bracing that is all. It will do you good to get some fresh air.’
And so it was they were all now wrapped in warm cloaks and being given a tour of the grounds by Guy and his sister. After several minutes it seemed to happen naturally that Guy and Lionel should drop behind, bent on talking Estate matters and manly interests, whilst Isabelle and Claudia moved more quickly in front.
‘So tell me, how are you finding my formidable brother, Isabelle? Is he a ferocious husband? I swear he scares the life out of me and I have known him all my life!’
‘Not at all,’ Isabelle replied primly. ‘Indeed he is always most accommodating.’
‘You do not look to me to be someone who is easily intimidated I have to say, and that is good. My brother would easily make minced meat of you if you were.’
‘Then as you say, it is a good thing my skin is thick. But do you not think you are being a little harsh? Guy has shown me nothing but consideration since our wedding, and although he has not the most ebullient of natures-’
Claudia burst out laughing. ‘That I think must count as the understatement of the year, sister. Guy was never one of the most ebullient of characters, even when he was more carefree and happy than he is today.’
Isabelle had to admit she found it difficult imagining Guy in such a guise. He was always so sombre, appearing cynical and mistrustful. More so even than her. Had there been a time when he was not like that? She found she was interested to find out.
‘You say he used to be happier and more carefree? But I take it that was before the ending of his marriage which must surely have come as a great disappointment to him?’
‘It was. Guy has withdrawn from everyone since it happened– even his own son whom I know he adores. Twas a huge dent to his pride as much as anything else. In his eyes, divorce brings shame to our name. And he is quite right of course, it does.’
‘But maybe his heart was broken too? To lose one’s wife to another man …’
‘I don’t think my brother has a heart, and if he does, it was never truly given to Charlotte.’ Claudia hesitated. ‘I should probably not speak of this, I know, but no-one else will and I think it only right that you should be aware of certain circumstances surrounding my brother’s previous marriage.’
She cast a quick glance round to ensure that Guy and Lionel were still some distance behind them, then said in a quieter voice. ‘Charlotte was a beautiful but silly and pampered ninny-head who had no more thought in her head other than that she wanted to be a Duchess. I believe she was no innocent when she married my brother, and set a deliberate trap to ensnare him. Sadly, despite the fact he was a mature man of five and twenty years and should have known better, she succeeded.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh nothing so very terrible but the consequences for someone like Guy were always going to mean marriage. They attended a Ball in London. It had been clear for some time that Charlotte and her Mama had set their caps
at Guy; indeed I used to tease Guy about it mercilessly at the time. That night, Charlotte convinced Guy that she was overly warm and needed some fresh air. I had watched her flirting with him all evening - not just smiling and fluttering her eyes behind a fan as most women do; she was more direct than that.’ She lowered her voice to a shocked whisper. ‘I have never told Guy this, but do you know, I actually saw her press herself quite shamelessly against his lower body when she thought no one else was looking? And then stroke him with her hand? I ask you…’ Claudia rolled her eyes. ‘What man is not going to respond to that? The next thing I saw them slipping out onto the terrace.’ She sighed. ‘Guy was a fool as I’m sure he has acknowledged to himself many times since. A few minutes later, Charlotte’s brother supposedly caught them in an act of indiscretion in the gardens - rumour has it that one of her breasts was completely exposed! Guy had no choice but to ask for her hand after that. And he lived to rue the day, believe you me. I could have told him that such a hussy would never stay faithful to one man. Indeed I tried to talk him out of marrying her. But he would have none of it. He had damaged her reputation and he would do the honourable thing.’
Just as he had with her, Isabelle thought somewhat sadly. It seemed that Guy’s sense of honour was doomed to condemn him to a life of regrets.
‘Come ladies,’ Lionel’s voice boomed from directly behind them as he shuffled a clumsy arm around his wife. ‘I think we have frozen ourselves quite enough to satisfy your mother, my dear.’
Dinner that night was a lively affair. Isabelle could not help but like her new sister in law, with her quick wit and warm, generous manner. She was forced to acknowledge that Lionel was something of a buffoon of a character however, and did not appear to have two serious sentences to string together. But his affection for his wife seemed genuine and she clearly enjoyed ruling the roost in their marriage, so in the strangest of ways it seemed to work.
Desperate Measures (Regency Undone) Page 6
