“Do you think it is true?” Isabella asked, ignoring the earl’s apology. She raised her head. “Could I be Poole’s sister?”
“Half sister,” Damien replied. He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure what I believe, Isabella. Yet I can’t stop myself from hoping this is merely another of Poole’s attempts to bring misery into my life.”
Isabella stood watching him in silence for a long moment. Her hands began to tremble, and her stomach felt queasy. “Would you hate me? If it were true?” she finally whispered.
“I could never hate you, my dear.” Damien moved forward and lightly touched Isabella’s shoulder. “But in all honesty, I must confess I would be very pleased to prove Poole a liar.”
“I see.” A heavy weight settled in Isabella’s breast. She breathed deeply, but it would not ease. “Ever since I was told that Charles Browning was not my real father, I’ve longed to learn the truth about my birth. Yet I never let myself hope I could discover my real family, because I knew it was an impossible task. The answers died with my mother all those years ago. But tonight ... tonight Lord Poole brought that hope back to life.”
Isabella shut her eyes tightly, willing back the tears. “I am afraid, Damien. I am terrified to learn the truth, yet I am drawn almost against my will toward it. If I am indeed Poole’s sister, then I have finally found the family I’ve hungered to know for so many years. And that discovery will, by your own admission, bring you misery. I don’t want to hurt you, Damien.”
“Isabella.” Damien reached out and pulled her closely against him. A wave of guilt engulfed Isabella at his affection and concern, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed noisily.
Damien held her tightly, murmuring soothing words until her sobs became sniffles. Isabella shifted her position slightly and laid her head against his shoulder. She felt so secure in his arms. Taking the handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed at her tears and gulped back the few remaining sobs.
“I am sorry,” she said softly. “I never meant to lose such complete control over my emotions.”
“It has been a shocking evening for both of us. A few tears are understandable.” He touched her cheek. “I might shed a few myself before the night is over.”
Isabella felt her lips curve into a smile. “I highly doubt that, sir.” She stared into his handsome face, finding it impossible to picture him succumbing to tears when faced with adversity.
“I won’t lie to you, Isabella,” Damien said solemnly, his penetrating gaze never faltering. “I’m not thrilled with the notion of having Poole for a brother-in-law again.”
Isabella’s brows shot up in surprise. “That is hardly the issue, sir. I have no plans to marry you.”
“We will marry,” he said.
A look crossed his face that caused a stirring in Isabella’s heart. She held her tongue, realizing with surprise that she had no inclination to argue the point with him. Although she had been adamant in her refusal of his marriage proposal earlier, her mind, prompted by her heart, now wavered. Perhaps they should marry. It was clear that Damien cared for her, maybe even more than he realized.
Isabella knew he was capable of love, for even though she had often insisted he devote more time to Catherine and Ian, she never once doubted the depth of love Damien carried for his children. Perhaps someday he would come to love her. The thought thrilled and humbled Isabella.
She gently pressed her palm to Damien’s chest and felt his heartbeat. For one tiny fragment of time she swore their hearts thudded in unison. She raised her chin and slowly lifted her face toward his. Damien smiled and touched his lips to hers briefly, but Isabella could feel his desire. His eagerness. His hunger. It exactly mirrored her own needs. Pressing herself against him, she returned the kiss passionately, holding nothing back. -
Her tongue met his boldly, imitating the strong thrusts she remembered from their previous joining. Damien’s hands roamed her body with urgent gentleness, his lips trailing sweet, succulent kisses down her sensitive neck.
“Tell me to leave,” he whispered huskily.
Her heart was beating like a drum in her ears, and it took Isabella a few moments to realize Damien had spoken. She tentatively raised her head. She could hear his uneven breathing in the silence and see her own blatant need reflected in his stormy gray eyes.
“What did you say?”
“Tell me to leave before I throw you down upon this bed and thrust myself inside your warmth.” He slipped a hand beneath her skirt and possessively ran his palm up her leg to the apex of her thighs, emphasizing his meaning.
Isabella became still. She did her best to focus her vision on Damien’s handsome features, but she felt lost in an erotic spell. Damien’s hand remained between her thighs, pressing, rubbing, stroking. Isabella let out a small cry when she felt the hot wetness he brought forth. It was shocking. Scandalous. Leaning closer to him, Isabella nipped playfully at Damien’s earlobe. Her hands moved beneath his jacket and waistcoat, and she kneaded his chest sensually.
“Please stay with me tonight.”
Damien smiled broadly, jolting the aching heat in Isabella’s body. “An excellent suggestion, my dear.”
He swept her up in his arms and laid her down on the bed. He bent down and kissed her lips fully, his tongue caressing her warm mouth. She drew him against her body, running her hands through his thick, dark hair. Isabella could feel his fingers unbuttoning her gown and she smiled. It felt so right.
Damien’s firm hands pushed the gown off her shoulders. He hastily untied the ribbons of her chemise and reverently lowered it to her waist.
“You are so very beautiful,” he whispered. The sleepy, sensual expression on his face made Isabella shudder. He kissed her lips sweetly and then bowed to run his tongue over her bare nipple.
Isabella felt the warm tingling between her thighs immediately. She sucked in her breath and arched her shoulders, thrusting her nipple deep into his mouth. Her hands clawed at his back, tugging ineffectively at his shirt.
Damien rose to his knees, pulled his shirt over his head and flung it across the room. Isabella giggled.
Damien flashed her a wicked grin as he reached down and peeled off her remaining garments. His hot gaze remained riveted on her naked splendor as he impatiently tore off the rest of his own clothing.
His tongue caressed her navel and she felt acutely conscious of her femininity as he kissed the inner softness of her thighs. His breath was warm against the tight curls surrounding her womanhood as his kisses lingered on her upper thighs.
“Open for me,” he urged.
The husky edge to his voice made her shiver. She spread her legs wide, then screamed with shock and embarrassment as Damien began to run his tongue up and down the most intimate part of her.
“You mustn’t,” she cried out weakly, feeling the blush spread through her entire body.
“So perfect,” Damien muttered passionately, ignoring her protests. His fingers opened the delicate folds of her body and the tip of his tongue laved the sensitive bud.
Isabella went rigid as the emotions washed over her, overwhelming her. How deeply and completely she loved him! After a few moments of mind-bending tension, Isabella reached her peak. At her cry of release, Damien lifted himself and plunged deep inside her. A moan of pure pleasure passed her lips as she arched her body to fit his, her arms stealing around his neck to cling to him.
Damien’s hips bucked back and forth in a frantic rhythm. Isabella looked up at him through narrowed eyes, and he reached down to cup her buttocks, bringing her even closer. His breathing labored as he quickened the rhythm, thrusting deeper. With each hard thrust, Isabella felt the liquid heat flowing over her as the fiery tension began to build once again.
“Let me hear you reach your pleasure, my sweet.”
She moaned throatily, unable to stop herself. The swell of sensations coursed through her, and Isabella screamed as release came swiftly, almost violently. At the same time she felt a great shudder ripple through Damien and then the cool
air against her skin when he suddenly jerked away. His rigid shaft pressed tightly against her upper thigh, throbbing insistently as it spewed forth sticky, wet semen.
Damien abruptly turned from her and lay flat on his back, his eyes closed, his breath coming harshly.
“What happened?” Isabella asked.
After a few moments Damien rolled to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. Brushing her cheek softly, he said, “You will be my wife, Isabella. But I’ll not force you into this marriage by getting you with child.”
Isabella’s throat tightened with emotion. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The earl left the bed, returning with a damp cloth. He efficiently wiped Isabella’s thighs, then resumed his place beside her. Isabella immediately moved closer and Damien gathered her into his arms. Lying against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she gradually fell asleep.
Damien woke first and watched the sleeping Isabella with troubled eyes. A single candle burned low by the bedside, the flickering flame illuminating her delicate features. Her brows were knit together, and occasionally she murmured small, incoherent sounds. His chest tightened when he saw a small tear slip down the outer corner of her closed eye, wetting the hair at her temples. Damien raised his hand and wiped the glistening drop with his fingertip.
“All will be well, Isabella. You mustn’t cry, my dear. All will be well.”
The words appeared to soothe her. She stirred, then quieted, her eyes never opening, her features visibly relaxing. If only he could so easily prevent their lives from unraveling, Damien thought grimly.
Poole’s calmly uttered words had shaken Isabella, yet Damien admitted he was partly to blame for her distress. The contradictions she felt were directly related to the adversarial relationship he had with Poole. Damien sympathized with Isabella’s awkward position, and seeing her in pain brought forth a need in him to comfort her, to somehow lessen the burden this mass of contradictions caused her.
There was only one possible course of action left to take. He would find the information she needed to ease her pain. He would discover who her true father was.
Without fully considering the ramifications of his intended actions, Damien carefully slipped from the bed. Isabella’s torment would not ease until she learned the truth about her parentage. And Damien was determined to somehow uncover that truth. If Poole’s suspicions were proved correct, and he was her half brother, Damien would be faced with the unpleasant task of forming a tolerant relationship with Poole. It was a bitter, unappealing notion, but for Isabella’s sake Damien was willing to try. He owed her that much.
Damien made a final adjustment to the bedcovers before quitting the room. He strode silently across the hall into his bedchamber, noting that it was still dark outside. He lit several candles, then began removing clean clothes from his armoire and placing them on the bed.
The bedchamber door opened. Damien whirled around and beheld Jenkins in the doorway, a branch of lit candles in the valet’s hand.
“Rearranging your wardrobe at this hour of the morning, my lord?” the valet asked, looking about the room in frank curiosity.
The earl turned his back on the servant and resumed his activities. “I am packing. I need to leave at first light.”
“Packing?” Jenkins repeated. “You are planning a journey? Where?”
“To York. I am going to pay a call on Isabella’s grandfather, the Earl of Barton.”
Jenkins gave the earl a shrewd look. “I assume this will not be a social call.”
“Hardly.”
“Are you going to ask for her hand in marriage?”
Damien turned so quickly, he banged his shin against the bed frame. “Damn!” Bending at the waist, he vigorously rubbed the bruised leg, his gray eyes pinned on his valet. “I need no one’s permission to marry Isabella, least of all that of a self-important earl who lacks the good sense to appreciate what a truly remarkable person she is.”
“Then why are you going?”
Damien pierced his valet with an exasperated stare. “You know everything that goes on in this house, Jenkins. Usually before I do. I can scarcely believe you missed the drama that unfolded in the salon last evening after dinner.”
Jenkins grinned sheepishly. “Lord Poole certainly turned Miss Browning’s world upside down with his revelations,” Jenkins said. “Do you believe she is related to Poole?”
“I am trying not to think about the matter too closely.” The earl threw three linen handkerchiefs onto the bed. “What I truly desire is to smash my fist into Poole’s smug face,” Damien said as the anger flared within him. “Unfortunately, that will solve nothing.”
Jenkins reached across the bed and began neatly folding the earl’s clothes. “You do realize, Damien, that you could end up losing her. Poole can offer her a far more comfortable life. A place in high society, elegant clothes and jewels, evenings spent at balls and parties and the theater. Given her meager existence working as a governess these past few years, Poole’s rich, pampered lifestyle could easily turn Miss Browning’s head.”
“She is not like other women. It will take far more than a few baubles to impress Isabella.” The earl gave Jenkins a long, searching look. “She brings out emotions and feelings in me I never knew existed. Her pain affects me, Jenkins, and I am compelled to do whatever I can to help ease it.”
“Are you in love with this woman, Damien?”
The earl lowered his gaze, shocked to feel his ears warming with embarrassment. “I don’t know.”
Jenkins stared at Damien’s bent head with knowing eyes and concerned features. “Poole will try to turn her against you while you are gone.”
“I suspect he’ll try,” Damien said with a philosophical shrug of his shoulders. “However, I am not a complete fool. You will be here, and in my absence I expect you to keep things under control. And make certain you pay particularly close attention to our unexpected houseguest.”
The valet’s back stiffened with pride. “I shall do my best.”
“Excellent.” Damien nodded his approval. “I will write a note for Isabella, explaining only that I have left The Grange on urgent business. I prefer that she not know where I am going. The last thing I want is to raise false hopes.”
Damien removed a sheet of paper from his small writing desk and quickly dashed off the letter while Jenkins packed the satchel of clothing. Handing the note to Jenkins, the earl added, “Be sure to deliver it to Isabella when she is alone.”
“Of course.”
The two men left the room, heading for the stables after Damien vetoed Jenkins’s suggestion of a hearty breakfast before beginning his journey. His course set, Damien was anxious to begin his trip and would not waste time waiting for an uninspiring meal from Mrs. Amberly.
Jenkins insisted on saddling the earl’s horse, and Damien paced the stables impatiently. Dawn was slowly breaking, and a faint mist covered the grass, permeating the air with a clean, sweet smell.
Jenkins led the earl’s large stallion out to the stableyard. Damien swung up on his horse and gripped the reins tightly.
“Is there anything else you want done while you’re away, Damien?”
The earl thought for a moment. “Poole has said nothing about the mortgages he holds against The Grange, but I feel certain he will begin pressing me for the funds very soon.”
“Shall I make some discreet inquires about the value of the artwork hanging in the long gallery?” Jenkins asked.
Damien looked broodingly off into the distance. “As much as it angers me to think of selling off Ian’s inheritance a piece at a time, it might be the only way to save the estate.”
“Of course I could always find Lady Anne’s treasure,” Jenkins said with a faint trace of humor in his voice. “Even if the treasure is only half of its reputed worth there will be more than enough funds to pay off Lord Poole.”
“Why not?” The earl gave his valet a grim smile. “Then after you have discovered the tr
easure, you may as well round up a few unicorns. I daresay Catherine and Ian will be enchanted with the notion of keeping a pair of them in our stables.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jenkins replied with good grace.
The earl shook his head. How like Jenkins to try to ease these difficulties with a spot of humor. Yet the valet’s unwavering loyalty gave Damien a feeling of strength. It made the impossibilities of the situation seem slightly less daunting knowing he wasn’t facing them entirely alone.
A shaft of bright sunshine hit Damien’s sleeve, warning him that the hour grew late. Giving Jenkins a salute of farewell, the earl dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and tore off down the drive at a clipping pace, trying hard not to think overmuch on the problems he was leaving behind and what truths he might discover at the end of this impulsive journey.
Chapter Eighteen
“He is gone? The earl has left The Grange?” Isabella stared at Jenkins in disbelief.
“A most urgent matter called him away early this morning,” Jenkins said, glancing nervously at the floor. “He left this note for you.”
“I see.” Isabella studied the sealed envelope the valet hastily thrust into her hands. A cold dread swept through her, and she struggled against voicing her fears. She thought last night they had shared a moment that went far beyond pure physical pleasure, yet something must have gone terribly wrong to cause Damien to flee without even speaking to her.
With shaking hands, Isabella broke the seal and quickly read the note.
Urgent business calls me away, my dear. I shall return as quickly as possible. Watch over Catherine and Ian for me. Have faith. Damien.
“Bad news?”
“No,” Isabella answered, tensing warily at the sound of Lord Poole’s voice. Determined not to be caught wallowing in self-pity, she turned her head toward him as he entered the dining room and smiled brightly. Crushing the note in her hand, she slipped it unobtrusively into the pocket of her gown. “Will you join me for breakfast, Lord Poole?”
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