143573.fb2 The Dukes Reform - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 5

The Dukes Reform - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 5

Chapter Four

The ball was a great success and, defying convention, she danced every dance with her future husband. Waltzing for the first time was magical. He held her close and they twirled in time to the music in a world of their own. Every time he looked at her his eyes burned with something she wasn’t quite sure about. The slightest touch of his hand sent shivers of excitement up and down her body.

As Mary helped her disrobe she decided to ask how a husband and wife were intimate. She understood somehow they must become as one body in order for the man to transfer his seed, but she was rather unclear exactly how this happened.

“Tell me, Mary, what will my husband do on my wedding night?”

“I’m not sure I should be the one to tell you this, it might be better to wait and not know the details.”

There must be something Mary did not wish her to know. “As you’re a married woman, and closer to me than anyone else, I am relying on you to explain everything.”

By the time all had been revealed she rather wished she had remained ignorant. However, she now understood the strange hardness she had felt pressing into her when she had been in his arms. After her abigail left she mulled over what she had been told. The aperture into which a man’s part must go would not even stretch to receive one of her fingers. She would be torn apart— no wonder in the olden days a bloody sheet was held up for all to see to prove the new bride had been an innocent.

She slept little that night. She rose early and found her way to the stable yard. A sleepy groom was only too pleased to saddle up the pretty grey mare she selected and to accompany her on her ride. The exercise and fresh air cleared her head. She would not think about her wedding night. She would concentrate on the here and now. There was the garden party this afternoon and she must not be out of sorts for that.

*   *   *

“Where is Lady Isobel, Lady Illingworth? She did not come in to breakfast this morning.” Alexander hoped Isobel wasn’t hiding from him.

“I believe she went out on horseback and is now resting so she will be fresh for this afternoon’s event, your grace.”

He relaxed, he should have thought of that himself. “Thank you, madam; I was concerned she might be unwell.”

There was to be a substantial spread set out for his tenants and staff, barrels of ale and jugs of freshly made lemonade plus pasties and the like. Fortunately the day was fine; it would be a perfect April afternoon, ideal for such a celebration. The sooner her tedious relatives departed the better. Isobel would settle more quickly if she had only himself to turn to for advice. He didn’t want anyone from her past at Newcomb— this was to be a fresh start for both of them.

The fact that his bride was marrying in order to restore the fortunes of her family made things a lot easier. She understood their union was more a matter of business than anything else—she to provide him with an heir and he to settle a vast sum on her impecunious father. His lips curved. It would be no hardship sharing her bed.

There were still two hours until the start of the garden party. As his nuptials drew nearer his mind turned constantly to his beloved Eleanor and he was beginning to think he was making a grave mistake. He would retreat to his study and fortify himself with a much-needed brandy or two. He was drinking far too much — had been doing so for years— but alcohol was the only thing that deadened the pain.

Foster arrived and roused him from his doze. “Your grace, I beg to inform you your guests are assembled and your tenants arriving in the park.”

Alexander swung his boots to the carpet and eased himself upright. He must desist from drinking during the day for it gave him a damnable headache. He checked his cravat was undisturbed and headed for the drawing-room. Isobel curtsied, but carefully avoided eye contact. There was something bothering the girl. He must give this some thought.

During the afternoon she walked at his side smiling and speaking naturally to his people. He glanced down at his lovely bride. He had chosen well, she was the perfect chatelaine for his home. She wasn’t Eleanor— she was irreplaceable. Isobel was beautiful, biddable and eminently beddable and this would have to do. He hardened at the thought of what awaited him the following night.

“My love, you haven’t eaten anything, you’ll be faint with hunger if you don’t take a little.”

“My lord, I dare not risk eating in public. I could be spoken to when I had my mouth full or dribble something down my gown. I shall make up for it to night at dinner, but I am touched by your concern.”

By five o’clock his guests were departing and he led Isobel back inside and drew her into a small ante-room and closed the door behind them. “Darling, you have acquitted yourself well. I believe you to be a firm favourite with my tenants already.”

“You have so many in your employ I fear I shall never learn all their names.”

“Good God! Don’t even attempt it, they know who you are and that’s all that matters. Leave such things to the estate manager, the butler and housekeeper— that’s what I pay them for.”

A slight frown marred the perfection of her brow. Surely she was not going to disagree? Then she smiled and he relaxed. He reached out to gather her close, to enjoy her lips and feel the softness of her breasts against his chest. To his astonishment she skipped sideways and was at the door before he could react.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I’ve to go to my apartment to change for dinner.”

He was tempted to call her back but refrained. She was right; there was barely an hour before they must all be down in their finery.

He was down early and waiting by the open doors of the grand-salon. His eyes strayed constantly to the staircase hoping Isobel would not be much longer. His other guests had abandoned their attempts to engage him in conversation and were grouped further down the room sipping champagne and sherry wine. She was tardy. His lips curved as he recalled their first ride together when she had assured him he was never late for any appointment.

Then she appeared at the head of the stairs dressed in a confection of silver and gold and floated towards him. His breath stopped in his throat and he gripped the stem of his glass. It snapped, spilling the contents down his pantaloons; he ignored the sharp pain as something embedded itself in his palm.

“My lord, you have cut yourself. Quickly, we must find a cloth to stem the blood.” The concern on her face touched his heart. His butler, Foster, was beside him and offered her a clean white square. She smiled her thanks before turning back to him.

“Here, let me do it for you.” She examined his hand, dabbing at the cut with the cloth. “It isn’t as bad as I feared. There, I’ve removed the glass. We can bind it and then you’ll be almost as good as new.”

He wanted to snatch his hand back. Her touch was sending signals to his brain and he would be in an embarrassing position very soon. These damn pantaloons would reveal his arousal— he must remove himself immediately. “Go in and entertain our guests, sweetheart, I can take care of this. I don’t wish to mar the perfection of your outfit with my gore.”

“I should not care if you did. However, as I’ve no idea where your bandages are kept, I shall do as you ask.”

When he returned she was engrossed in a lively conversation with her young cousins. He was apart from them, was of a different generation, almost old enough to be the parent. Was he too old to be her husband? She was little more than a schoolroom miss and he a man of five and thirty— would such a disparity of age and experience be a hindrance or a help?

Despite her promise to eat heartily he noticed she scarcely swallowed a mouthful, pushing the food around her plate in order to make it look as though she’d eaten. Something was worrying her; they had dined together many times and she’d always eaten well. Occasionally she glanced his way and he tried to reassure her with a smile. There was something seriously amiss and he believed he finally understood.

*   *   *

Mary received a large, flat, velvet box that had just been delivered to the bedchamber by the duke’s man. “There’s a note here, my lady. Shall I put it on the desk?”

Isobel had been fidgeting with her easel and looked across. “No, let me see what he’s sent. It’s after eleven o’clock— how could Rochester know I was still awake?” Her abigail brought the items over. Isobel broke the seal on the paper and the bold black handwriting leapt out at her. The box contained something that had to be worn at the wedding ceremony.

She opened the lid and gazed in awe at the fabulous circlet. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. This must be an ancient heirloom. See, Mary, how the golden leaves have been constructed and the centres of the flowers are topaz, or perhaps amber.”

“If you’re to wear that tomorrow, my lady, you’ll have to have your hair loose for it won’t fit over an elaborate arrangement.”

Isobel shrugged. “You can braid the front and leave the back hanging free. I wondered why the duke had insisted my gown should be gold. I shall feel like a wood nymph with my floating draperies and this exquisite object on my head.”

She replaced the jewel in the box and returned to her task. She heard Mary sigh behind her. She was being unfair keeping her maid so late. “I shall retire now. I can’t make this wretched thing stand straight. I doubt I shall have much time to paint in the immediate future so it can wait.”

No sooner had her abigail departed than Isobel threw back the covers and got out of bed. She would not be able to sleep so might as well find a novel to read and sit in front of the fire until she was too tired to keep her eyes open. Being in a huge bed turned her thoughts to what she would have to endure in either this bed, or the one next door, in a few short hours.

She left one candle burning on the mantelshelf and curled up in a comfortable chair, tucking her feet beneath her nightgown and bed robe. She attempted to immerse herself in her gothic romance. She was almost asleep, the candle burnt out, the only light from the fire, when the communicating door between her room and his began to move.

Her eyes flew open. She shrunk back against the seat. He edged into the room carrying an enormous tray from which appetizing aromas floated.

“Stay where you are, little one, I shall put this down and fetch the rest.” He placed the tray on the carpet in front of the fire and quickly lit two candlesticks. With no more than a friendly smile he vanished back from whence he came.

How extraordinary! The sight of all the food made her mouth water. She had not eaten for more than twenty four hours and her stomach gurgled. Surely there could not be more food coming? There was enough on that one tray to feed a dozen people.

He reappeared with a second tray with a silver jug and two silver goblets, plus a second jug of lemonade. “I thought we could share a loving cup, sweetheart, but not until you have eaten. Mulled wine on an empty stomach would make you feel decidedly unwell.”

“I love mulled wine; we always have it at Christmas.” Forgetting she was in her nightwear, not even slippers on her feet, she knelt down and pushed the poker into the centre of the blaze. “This will soon heat up. I should like some lemonade to be going on with. Shall I help myself to food?”

He waved her back to her chair, his expression tender. “This is my surprise; allow me to be your servant tonight.”

She devoured a substantial portion of the laden tray before she was replete. “I feel so much better. I’m relieved that you joined me in this midnight feast. Can I have some wine now?”

His chuckle made her feel even more relaxed. He was different, his austerity and coldness gone. In the intimacy of her bedchamber he had become the man she’d dreamed about. The sweet smell of spices filled the room as he plunged the poker into the jug. He filled both goblets then handed one to her, raising the other in salute.

“To us, my love. May the rest of our lives be spent in happiness and harmony.”

“To us.” She swallowed and the delicious concoction filled her with warmth and a strange excitement. That odd darkness she’d observed before was apparent in his eyes. Hastily she broke the connection and drank some more mulled wine, and then the vessel was pried from her fingers.

“Enough, Isobel, you’re not used to alcohol. Come and sit with me, there are matters I need to discuss with you.”

Not waiting for her to move he scooped her up and, before she could protest she was resting in his lap. It was pleasant to be held— she had not felt the protection of another’s arms since the nursery. She closed her eyes and didn’t flinch when his arms encircled her.

“Would you do something for me?”

Sleepily she gazed up at him; his smile made something most peculiar curl through her nether regions. “What is it you want, my lord?”

“Firstly, when we are alone, I wish you to use my given name— Alexander. I shall call you Isobel.” This did not seem unreasonable. She nodded and closed her eyes again. “Secondly, sweetheart, allow me to release your hair. Ever since I saw you waiting in the line at your ball I’ve dreamt of running my fingers through it. I insist you must never have it cut short whatever the prevailing fashions might dictate.”

She was too fatigued to protest. She raised her head allowing him access to her braid; if he wished to see it loose then he must release it himself. His fingers were deft. Seconds later she was enveloped in her hair. He gently propelled her forwards and began to draw his fingers through her locks from temples to neck.

Why should such a simple thing be sending shockwaves up and down her spine? An unusual restlessness was building in the very core of her being. Something made her wish to twist in his arms so she could see his face. When she did so she felt the- familiar hardness pressing against her bottom. Instantly her fear returned and she tried to scramble from his lap.

“Darling girl, you must not be scared of me. Whatever you have been told about what takes place between a man and a woman has obviously frightened you. I promise you I would never hurt you. It’s my duty to protect and care for you for the rest of your life.”

His words were soothing— his hands were stroking her, easing out the tension and the fear. She couldn’t tell him why she was afraid, but he would not lie to her His fingers buried themselves in the hair and tilted her head. His lips brushed hers sending spirals of pleasure around her overheated limbs.

“Trust me, darling, let me show you what it is to be loved. There’s nothing to fear. What we’re doing is a natural thing; a man and a woman are meant to be conjoined in this way.”

Her arms encircled his neck. She wished to have his lips pressing on hers, for his hands to continue to work their power, stroking and caressing her shoulders and neck. His mouth engulfed hers. His tongue demanded entry and her lips parted to let him in. She was lost in a place she hadn’t known existed, her body no longer her own.

When he stood and moved smoothly towards the bed, she made no protest. Gently he slid her down his chest until her bare feet were on the carpet. “I can’t make love to you until you’re free of these unnecessary items.”

She was mesmerized— could not have moved even if the house had caught fire. The ribbons at the neck of her garments were untied. He pushed the cotton over her shoulders and she was naked before him. Every inch of her was burning. Her breasts tingled and she wanted something from him but was not sure what this was.

Her legs gave way and she fell backwards onto the sheets. With one swift movement he tore off his bed-robe and stood before her as naked as she. Her eyes widened. She had not expected this. Before she could prevent it her glance dropped to his stomach— what she saw doused her flames as effectively as a bucket of cold water. Her fears returned and she rolled away attempting to hide herself in the covers.

She cringed from him but he gathered her close and kissed her softly. His hand moved from her face, down to her breast and the heat inside her returned. His lips trailed fire from her neck to her stomach. His tongue circled her nipple sending spirals of pleasure pulsing around her. As his mouth turned to give the same attention to her other breast his fingers traced the outline of her stomach and slid between her thighs.

She gasped in shock as they entered her most private place and began a magical dance that left her writhing in pleasure. She pressed against his hand wanting more, something else— she was burning up and only he could quench the fire. He rolled on top of her and gently nudged her legs apart. She forgot her fears as his mouth covered hers.

As he plunged his tongue inside he raised his hips and drove forward. Somehow her body accommodated him. There was a sharp pain and she stiffened. He paused. When she relaxed he continued his thrusting. An exquisite pressure, that was almost pain, centred on the place they were conjoined. With each surge she rose to meet him. She found release as waves of ecstasy engulfed her. She cried out his name— seconds later he groaned and expelled his seed inside her.

Still intimately linked he rolled sideways taking her with him. She couldn’t speak, could scarcely breathe. How could she have been afraid of something so amazing?

“My darling, I hope I didn’t hurt you. It is always so the first time.”

“The small pain was worth it, my love. I had never imagined anything so wonderful could take place between us. I can’t understand why Mama and Aunt Laura didn’t tell me how it would be.”

He laughed and smoothed back her hair. “They did not tell you, sweetheart, because not everyone experiences what you did.”

Surprised and intrigued by his answer she tried to wriggle away from him in order to converse in a more seemly way. His arm around her hips prevented her. “Surely the process is the same for everyone?”

His answer was to kiss her. She responded willingly and forgot all about her question.