A Lady of Persuasion

“If you’d visited, it would only have caused you distress,” she said feebly. “Even now, I must look so ill.” She put one hand to her temple, shielding her face.



He ducked, peering under it. “Isabel, listen to me. We are to be married in a couple of weeks. I’m going to stand before all London, the Holy Trinity, and even those two boorish brothers of yours and pledge you my undying fidelity and protection. In sickness and in health.” He pulled her hand away from her face, folding his fingers around hers. “And with God as my witness, I will vow to you right now—you are the most beautiful sight I’ve beheld in ten days.”



She couldn’t decide whether he was teasing her or deceiving her. But then, she didn’t really want to know. “I’ve missed you,” she said quietly. That was the simple truth.



“I’m glad of it.” He smiled. “Miss Osborne tells me you’ve made nearly a full recovery.”



“Yes, my fever is completely gone. I’m just a bit weak yet.”



“But you’re not taking enough food, she says.”



“It’s … it’s still painful to eat,” she said. “My throat…” She feigned a little cough, in lieu of completing the sentence.



“Isabel, you must make an effort to regain your strength. I’ve just spoken to your brother. He’s suggesting we postpone the wedding.”



“Oh, he mustn’t! I won’t let him.” Bel gripped his hand. “I’m feeling much improved already.”



This, too, was the truth. Perhaps she had been wrong to keep him away so long. There was something about the way he looked at her, with that shadow of a smile in his eyes, that made her feel restored. His teasing infuriated her at times, but she was beginning to understand it as a strange sort of compliment to her character. While bullies teased to belittle and hurt, Toby’s good-natured jibes had quite the opposite effect. He teased not out of malice, but because he believed she was strong enough to bear it.



And thus far, he had always been right.



She gave his fingers a little squeeze. “The wedding must go on as planned.”



Relief was plain in the relaxation of his shoulders. He added his free hand to the tangle of their fingers, surrounding hers with his strong, warm touch. “Good. To that end, I’ve brought you some medicine.” Releasing her, he reached for the parcel he’d brought.



“Medicine? But Miss Osborne has already dosed me with—”



“This is a different sort of medicine. One you’re sure to enjoy.” A sly gleam stole into his eyes as he opened the package and withdrew a chilled glass dish mounded with a nut-brown ice.



“The flavor is chocolate. Blended with hazelnut and, I’m told, a hint of cinnamon.”



“Toby, really …”



“I insist.” He pressed a spoon into her hand. “If it pains you to eat solid food, you must take what you can. An ice is the perfect remedy for a sore throat. The coolness is a balm; the sweetness is a restorative.” He gave her a wicked smile. “And everyone knows chocolate to be invigorating.”



Bel could already feel her resistance melting. The glistening ice looked so cool, so inviting. Her raw throat worked as she imagined taking just one spoonful of chilled, soothing sweetness.



“I… I couldn’t possibly.”



“Is it the sugar that concerns you?”



She nodded, hoping he would take pity on her conscience and quickly pack the dish away. He pressed it closer, taking the spoon from her hand and scooping up a bite of the ice. “Isabel, don’t be concerned. I ordered this ice specially made for you. It’s sweetened with honey.”



“Honey?”



“Yes, pure English honey, collected from very contented bees. I interviewed the beekeeper myself, and he assured me the drones were treated most fairly, paid an honest wage, and given the Sabbath to rest. And now that they’ve done their service, I’ve arranged for the whole hive to be pensioned off to a charming little beech grove in Shropshire, right next to a meadow abundant with clover. So you see,” he said, moving the spoon toward her lips, “you may partake of this ice in good conscience.”



Bel giggled. For heaven’s sake, she never giggled. With those smooth arguments and that persuasive grin, he was bound to be a terrific success in Parliament. “You are teasing me. Most shamelessly.”



“Yes. And you’re enjoying it.” Leaning closer, he lifted the spoon to her mouth. “Really, Isabel. You must eat. You must get well, if we are to marry as planned, and …” His voice took on a sudden, thrilling intensity. “And I don’t wish to delay.”



She closed her eyes. If she were truly strong, she would find it in herself to push the temptation away. But she was ill and weak, and though she knew in her conscience she shouldn’t give in



…



She did.



Her lips closed around the chilled spoon, and she drew on it with light suction, pulling the frozen confection into her mouth.



Oh.



Oh, paradise.



At first, the cold burned her lips and tongue, and the ice crystals abraded her palate like small slivers of glass. But then the sharp edges melted to cream, and each tiny excoriation was now soothed, with exquisite coolness and a dark, bittersweet spice.



Swallowing, she opened her eyes to find him offering her a second spoonful. This bite she accepted with eyes wide open, held rapt by his warm, amber-flecked gaze as the oscillation of sharp pain and rich pleasure teased her senses again.



“Do you like it?” he asked, slowly retracting the spoon from between her pursed lips. Did she? Bel licked her lips, considering. She couldn’t describe the sensation as wholly pleasant, but she knew one thing. “I want more.”



He gave a hoarse chuckle—a sound more throaty and raw than his usual laugh. As he lifted another bite to her lips, Bel watched his dark pupils widening with anticipation, his full lips parting in unison with hers. He seemed to experience the same sweet torture she did, as the burning cold flooded her mouth. Once again, he dragged the spoon from between her lips. And for some unknown, wicked reason, Bel found herself pursing them tighter in defiance. As if to tease.



She licked her lips again, slowly, taking joy in the way his gaze riveted to her mouth. Yes, she felt strong when he teased her, but teasing him back … this was power. The sensation rushed through the top of her head, like cold.



When he spoke, his voice was husky. “May I taste?”



“Yes,” she blurted out. How thoughtless she’d been, not to offer before he could ask. “Yes, of course.”



Instead of dipping the spoon again, however, Toby set the dish aside. And before Bel even knew what was happening, his hands were framing her jaw, angling her face to his. And then his body was flush against hers, his lips covering hers, and his tongue … His tongue was inside her mouth, teasing hers. Tasting.



Shocked, Bel closed her eyes. This felt so good, it had to be wrong. She ought to push this temptation away. She shouldn’t give in.



But she did.



And she discovered that her future husband tasted even better than chocolate. His mouth moved confidently over hers as his tongue swept between her lips, in and out. The effect was dizzying. Her breath rushed out in a little whimpering sigh. Toby’s hands relaxed where they clasped her face, and his lips paused against hers in a deceptively innocent kiss. He was offering her a chance to resist. An opportunity to pull away. But as with the ice, she wasn’t satisfied with one taste of him. Maybe that fever had done something to her. She knew it was wrong, but she wanted more.



Her hands flew around his neck, threading into the locks of his hair where it met his cravat. As he renewed the kiss, she allowed her fingers to explore. How long she’d been wanting to touch him like this! His hair felt every bit as sleek as it looked, and the muscles of his neck were delightfully solid. And his skin … When she slid one fingertip beneath his starched neckcloth, she discovered his skin to be smooth and hot and just a bit damp with perspiration. A new thrill went through her, to know that beneath his confident exterior, he was simply a man, raw and elemental. And she made him sweat.



“Isabel.”



He murmured the name against her mouth, sliding his hands down to her waist and pulling her close. When her breasts met his chest, a little moan escaped them both. But this time, Toby offered her no gentleness, no chance to retreat. No, he had become a true man of purpose, pulling her tighter still and taking her mouth with a possessive hunger. His kiss tasted dark and desperate, and it was undeniably flattering, how much he seemed to want her. That no matter how much she offered him, he took more, and still more. His mouth moved again and again over hers, his tongue thrusting in and out as he clutched her waist with both hands. And then …



Oh, and then.



He began to slide one hand up. So slowly, so stealthily. His thumb lingered over each rib. With every inch his touch crept higher, Bel grew increasingly certain it would soon stop. It must stop.



But it didn’t stop, this insidious, tantalizing caress that traveled up and up. And within her some forbidden sensation, some need, began to mount as well. It was as if all her awareness converged in her belly, following the rippling heat of his touch. Her breath grew shallow, and her fingers tightened around his neck. Somewhere in her mind, a shrill voice clamored for virtue, but she couldn’t obey. The unbearable need climbed her from inside and out—his touch, this sensation—up and up … and up.



His thumb grazed the underside of her breast.



Oh. Oh, please.



Bel didn’t have the slightest idea what she was begging him for. But she was kissing him back now, arching her body and pouring that wordless plea into light motions of her lips and tentative sweeps of her tongue. He growled deep in his throat and rewarded her daring with another gentle caress up the side of her breast.



She clutched his neck tighter, kissed him harder. Telling him what she could never, ever bring herself to say in words.



Oh, please don’t stop. Please do it again.



Her breasts ached. They were heavy, so heavy. She resented them, these useless, corsetstraining burdens she’d been carrying around since the age of fourteen. And now, at long last, they seemed awakened to some purpose. Her nipples gathered to tight knots, straining against her bodice. Straining toward him. They hurt.



He could make it better. She knew he could.



Oh please. Oh please oh please oh please.



His hand cupped her breast. She nearly cried out with relief. His thumb found her nipple, and pleasure sang through her veins and curled between her thighs. So intense, she thought she might faint. With confident fingers, he stroked and kneaded, and Bel kissed him with every ounce of gratitude she possessed. They were heavy, so heavy—but now he had taken the weight in his own strong hand, bearing it for her. Soothing the ache. It was everything wrong. But it was everything she needed. She needed him, and he had come, armed with chocolate and kisses and that teasing, devilish grin.



He was temptation incarnate, and she was giving in.



At last.



At last.



Toby thumbed her hardened nipple again, groaning into her mouth. How long had he been aching to hold these magnificent breasts? Since the evening they met—weeks now, months. An eternity. God, how marvelously she filled his hand, the warm, soft flesh overflowing his cupped fingers. Desire pounded in his blood. He longed to push her back into the upholstery, wrench her free of this thin muslin bodice, and fasten his lips around the taut bud of her nipple. She would taste so good. These mewling, erotic noises she now made into his mouth … she would make them aloud. Just the thought of it drove him into a frenzy. He’d missed her, more than he could have expected. The need gripped him, to join with her—



to carve out a home for himself in all that lush, generous femininity and never, ever leave. And though some fragment of reason in his melting brain insisted that there was no damned way he could deflower Isabel right here, right now, on her sitting room settee … a distinctly baser portion of him quite desperately wanted to try.