Chapter Ten
Jason had left the ball and immediately went and spent the better part of an hour upstairs working his body into a frenzy of sweat and not stopping until his muscles ached. After bathing, he’d retired to the sitting area in his bedchamber where he began cleaning his weapon, as he knew trying to sleep would be futile. There was a rap at the door, and he looked up from his pistol.
“Enter,” he said. His hands stilled as Isabel stepped into his room. Although she was completely covered by her shift, the thin, filmy fabric left little to his imagination as it captured each curve. He forced his gaze to her face. “Everything all right?”
“Yes.” She came forward and lowered herself onto the sofa with him, although she left some distance between them.
He went back to cleaning his pistol, making certain to be as thorough as possible. He continued polishing the steel, so much so he was surprised he hadn’t wiped off the embossing. As long as his hands were occupied, he couldn’t reach out and touch her, which was more than tempting.
She inched herself closer to him.
“Isabel, did you come in here for a reason?”
“I want you to kiss me again.”
Her boldness surprised him. And aroused him. Innocence shone in her eyes, and he remembered the feel of her body pressed to his as they’d waltzed. How everyone had commented about what a stunning couple they’d made. Some believed they were desperately in love, while others whispered about how there must be an impending baby coming because, clearly, theirs was a match made from passion.
“I don’t think that is a good idea,” he said. He wanted to tell her the truth about why he couldn’t lose himself with her. But she deserved more, certainly more than he could give her.
She looked at her hands, folded in her lap. “You did tell me you desired me, so I assumed—”
“You do not believe what I said, that I want you?”
Her green eyes looked up at him. “What else could it be? You told me before we were married that your heart does not belong to another, so it cannot be that you are pining for your true love.”
He shook his head. “It is not that.”
“Then it must be me.”
“Isabel, there is nothing wrong with you. You are a beautiful woman, desirable in every way. Any man would want you as his wife.”
“Any man but you,” she said. “Perhaps I should have married some stranger in that inn.”
Her words were not a challenge, nor an accusation, only a statement of the truth she so obviously felt.
“Isabel.” It was all he managed before he pulled her to him and slanted his mouth across hers, moving gently before teasing her lips with his tongue. She made a tiny noise before allowing his tongue entrance. He explored her warm mouth, loving the feel of her, the taste of her.
Her fingers clenched against his chest, causing his erection to throb against his trousers until he thought he might completely lose control, but he couldn’t afford to do that. Especially over a kiss. Rather than risk it, he ended the kiss abruptly and leaned away from her.
She nearly fell over from his hasty release and grabbed the edge of the sofa to steady her balance, but that one kiss wasn’t enough. He needed a little more, so he pulled her over to him. He didn’t kiss her softly this time, didn’t take time to seduce her mouth. No, this time he took exactly what he wanted, the precise moment he wanted it. He plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, the warm wetness enveloping him, and he groaned and pulled her closer.
She met his kiss with equal fervor. She was not shy with her own tongue and melded hers against his in a passionate dance. God, he wanted her. Now. On the floor. On this sofa. Anywhere he could have her.
Her fingers slid up his chest in a slow tortuous move, up to his shoulders, around his neck, and finally landed in his hair. She released a distinctly feminine, distinctly erotic noise that sent blood surging to his groin.
He ran his fingers lightly across her collarbone, then dipped them under the fabric of her shift. Her skin was impossibly soft, velvety smooth, and deliciously warm. She was perfect. He continued kissing her. His hand slid up the front of her shift, and he cupped her breast. She released a throaty moan, arched against him. He wanted to touch her everywhere, see what other reactions he could pull from her. He dipped his hand down the front of her shift and found her nipple.
In that moment, she was his. Only his. His hand continued to rub at the tantalizing peak as he nibbled on her collarbone. He pulled the fabric low and molded his mouth on her breast, soft, round, and sinful. There was no time to think. He wanted only to touch, to feel. While his lips and teeth made love to her left breast, his hand weighed her right carefully, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the nipple. She bucked against him. He knew she was looking for her release, trying to feel him through the layers of his clothes.
She wanted him. He’d known that when she’d come in here, but it was clear now just how strong was her desire. She should not trust him so, especially since he clearly didn’t have her best interests at heart. Not now. No, now all he wanted to do was pull up her shift and plunge himself deep inside her, make her cry out his name and beg for more. But where would that leave her in the morning?
He couldn’t do that to her, and, unless he wanted to end up in such a position, he needed to stop. Walk away from their embrace, now, before they did something they both regretted. He moved away from her and came to his feet. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him, mouth agape. “What is the matter? Did I do something wrong?”
He found his breath was labored. He licked his lips and tried to calm his body. “No. It is I who did everything wrong.”
Jason didn’t know where to go after he left Isabel in his bedchamber, so he found himself marching down the stairs and straight to his study. He needed a drink. A strong drink.
He skipped the brandy, pulled out the decanter of scotch, and poured three fingers worth. With one great swig, he swallowed the liquid; it burned his throat and settled in his belly where it seemingly scorched a hole through his gut. But at least he could concentrate on that and not the expression on Isabel’s face as he’d left her. Not the smooth softness of her luminescent skin, and not the warmth and passion he found in her kisses.
He poured himself another scotch, then swore.
“It couldn’t be as bad as all that,” his mother said from behind him.
“Mother, you really shouldn’t sneak up on people in such ways. I’m not in the mood for company.”
“I don’t require your mood to be any such way.” She poured herself a drink, sipped it slowly, and took a seat in one of the wingback chairs.
They sat in silence for several moments, and Jason did his very best to ignore her presence, but that tactic had never worked with his mother. Somehow her mere presence seemed to lure him to talk.
“I can’t do this anymore, Mother. The weight of it is too strong. It will certainly be better for everyone if the truth were known,” he said.
“So it is to be this discussion again,” she said, her tone neither judging nor resigned. “Jason, we have been over this.”
“Yes, I know, but truthfully, keeping this secret is killing me. I would rather it be known and live through the aftermath. I can accept the full weight of the scandal. I will bear it all. Patrick will need do nothing, save take his rightful place as viscount.”
“My dear son, you know that London does not work that way. My reputation would be in ruins. I can live with that. In truth, it is no more than I deserve.” She took a slow sip of her drink. “And were I the only one to suffer, I would welcome the scandal, but you and I both know that it would not merely affect me or you.” She was silent for a moment, studying his face. “The truth would not only destroy you and me, it would destroy our entire family. Your brother’s name as viscount would be forever tarnished. Even though he is the legitimate heir, there would always be doubts. The rumors about him would never end, and they would carry over to his son. Is that truly the fate you want him to have?”
But if Jason could walk away from this mantle…if he could but tell the world that he was a bastard, that he wasn’t the rightful heir, then he’d be free to be with Isabel as a man can be with his wife. He’d be free to sire her children. But as it was now, he could not take the risk of getting her with child. One bastard heir would produce only another bastard heir, and that was unacceptable.
His mother leaned forward and took his hands in hers. “My dear love, this was my indiscretion. Why do you continue to punish yourself for something over which you had no control?” Tears glistened in her eyes, eyes that matched his own. “We had been married for nearly five years, and I desperately wanted a child.” She shook her head. “Your father forgave me. He loved you as his own. We rejoiced together in your birth. Yet you continue to live as if there is no penance good enough to cleanse you.”
Tears slid down her cheeks, and guilt sliced through him. He was being selfish. Every time he mentioned this to her, he reminded her of her infidelity. She’d been young and foolish, and his parents had moved forward with the joint decision that no one would ever know the truth of Jason’s lineage—that he was the son of their stable master. He’d become their heir, a child they hadn’t thought was possible since they had assumed his father was unable to sire a child. And then Patrick had come—the rightful heir, a surprise, nearly four years after Jason’s birth. By then it would have been too scandalous to make things right.
He wiped away her tears. “I do not blame you. I just feel guilty, wrong, living this life when it should belong to Patrick and his son.”
“Your brother has a loving wife and two beautiful children. They have enough money, and they love living in the country most of the year. He needs nothing more,” his mother said. “You know that Suzanne doesn’t care for the bustle of London.”
“Perhaps, but maybe he’d have made different choices had he been given the chance,” Jason said.
“Yes, we all would have made different choices had we been given the opportunity to do so, but life does not work in such a way. If I might be so bold, you will not be satisfied with a marriage with no intimacy, Jason, especially with Isabel. She is a lovely woman. I have seen the way you look at her.”
“I will not continue the line of this title with another bastard child,” Jason said.
“It would not be a bastard. You and Isabel are married. Any of your children would be legitimate.”
“Any child of mine will be tarnished by my own bastard blood.”
“At some point you will need to decide that this one thing doesn’t have to define you.” She paused a moment before continuing. “I know it is not common for a mother to discuss this, but you do realize there are ways to be intimate without producing a child.”
“I do not wish to discuss this with you.” He did little to hide his exasperation in hopes she would leave him to his own thoughts.
“Jason,” she said.
He could readily tell that she was not going to abandon this discussion. He knew how to silence her forever on this subject, but he’d never shared this with anyone. He would not continue to fight with his mother about consummating his marriage. “Of course, I know that,” he said. “I also know that those methods are not foolproof.” He looked down at her feet. “If you must know, I did everything I could to prevent a child with my mistress, but she became pregnant.”
His mother sucked in a breath.
“She subsequently lost the babe before it was born.” He rubbed a hand down his face and exhaled slowly. “I am well familiar with the so-called ways to prevent a child.”
“I never knew,” she said quietly.
“No one save me and my former mistress know. It has been years, and it is not something I discuss.”
She placed her hands on his face, cradling him. “You were not created within the bounds of marriage, but your father and I loved each other very much and you are loved, my son. Now you have a beautiful wife. You could finally have the life I’ve always wanted for you.”
He didn’t expect her to understand. He loved her perhaps even more because she didn’t, because she never questioned his worth, but that didn’t mean she was right. He kissed her forehead.
“You should get some sleep, Mother.”
She nodded and left the room. At least he wasn’t angry any longer. Of course, his situation with Isabel still hadn’t changed, but his mother was right about one thing. He couldn’t ignore his wife forever, refuse her any intimacy. He’d likely go mad in the process. He was a man of great control, certainly he could use that skill in bed with his wife. There was passion between him and Isabel, that he could not deny. There could also be pleasure.
…
The next afternoon, Isabel was called down to the lavender parlor. She expected to find her mother-in-law waiting there for her. Instead, she found three ladies whom she did not know, two though, she recognized from that day at the dressmaker’s shop. Well, she supposed she had met them that day, but she was unaccustomed to social calls.
“Hello,” she said, knowing that was probably not the appropriate greeting. During her years in school, she had received no social visitors. In fact, as far as she remembered, none of the girls had.
One of the ladies stepped forward with a smile. She was not a woman of traditional beauty, but her kind and genuine smile made up for her overly large nose and mousy-brown eyes. “Lady Ellis, so lovely to see you again. I’m certain you met so many new people the other evening, I shall reintroduce us. I am Lady Eleanor Prentiss and this is Lady Whitney Maples and Lady Candace Henning.”
For an awkward moment they all stood before Isabel remembered to gesture them into seats. The three women were all around her own age or a little older. Like Jason’s mother and sister-in-law, they were dressed in the height of fashion.
Thank goodness the clothes from the modiste had arrived the day before, and that her lady’s maid had insisted Isabel start dressing in them immediately. She could only imagine their disdain if she had been dressed in the clothes she’d worn yesterday morning.
Unsure what to say next, the silence stretched between them. Lady Candace and Lady Whitney looked at her with a sort of wide-eyed expectation. After a moment, they exchanged an amused glance. She should ring for tea, she knew that much, but she wasn’t certain how to go about it without leaving the room and her guests. Clearly, she was doing this all wrong.
“Tell me, Lady Ellis,” Eleanor said, “can your servants hear the bell”—she motioned with her head to the small gold bell sitting on the table to Isabel’s right—“all the way up here at the front of the house?”
Isabel could have hugged the woman. Somehow she’d known or seen Isabel’s desperation. “I believe they can,” Isabel said, then picked up the bell and rang it. Promptly a scullery maid bobbed into the room.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Tea and cakes, please,” Isabel said.
The maid bobbed again and scurried out of the room. They must have already had the tray readied, because in a matter of moments she was back, carrying in the tray and placing it on the occasional table that sat in the midst of the chairs. Once the maid left, Isabel reached for the pot to pour the tea. She must have done something uncouth, because Candace smirked. Isabel blew out a calming breath. This could not go any worse than it already was. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
“I fear my manners are not what they should be,” she said, holding out the cup and saucer to Eleanor. “This is my first social call.”
Lady Whitney gave a smile that seemed a little too sweet. “Your first social call of the morning?”
“Ever, I’m afraid.” She gave an exaggerated grimace.
“Certainly that cannot be,” Candace said. “You are a princess.”
“Who was raised an orphan,” Isabel said with a shrug.
“But you attended school, did you not?” Whitney asked.
“Do you prefer to be called Lady Ellis or Princess Isabel?” Eleanor asked as if she sensed where Whitney was trying to go and wanted to steer the conversation away from it. “I’ve never met royalty before, so I admit that my manners are probably lacking.”
The other two women had the graciousness to look ashamed. They nodded and agreed with Eleanor.
“Lady Ellis is perfect.” She was, in fact, Lady Ellis in every sense of the word save one. “Or simply Isabel would suffice. I admit to not being terribly formal.” While she appreciated Lady Eleanor’s attempt to help her, Isabel couldn’t allow the woman to defend her. She suspected all boarding schools had their share of bullies, and St. Bart’s had been no different. If Isabel let them, Candace and Whitney would walk all over her. “Perhaps it was growing up in a boarding school.”
“Ah yes, your school, it was St. Bartholomew’s, was it not?” Whitney asked.
“But what is it that it is more affectionately known as?” Candace asked.
“St. Bart’s,” Eleanor provided through tight teeth.
“I believe they are referring to the less than flattering moniker, St. Bastards, are you not?” Isabel asked, not missing a beat.
Candace nodded, not even bothering to blush.
“Candace, that is a wretched thing to say,” Lady Prentiss said.
“I didn’t say it, the princess did,” Candace said.
“Indeed. I did say it,” Isabel said, feeling braver. “I find it much better to say things outright, rather than to imply them.” She looked at both Candace and Whitney. “Don’t you?”
The women held her gaze for only a moment before shifting their gazes down to their cups nervously.
Isabel took a slow sip of her tea. “No doubt my education at St. Bart’s left me poorly prepared for the life of a princess. It did, however, excel in one area.”
“Really?” asked Eleanor. “And what was that?”
“It taught me how to deal with bullies.” Isabel ignored the faint gasp from Candace while she calmly slathered cream onto a biscuit. “I’ve found that bullies of all kinds must be met directly, and without intimidation, especially the ones who act at first as though they want to be your friend, and then they mock you.” With that she set her knife down, brought the biscuit to her mouth, and bit into it with an exaggerated show of her teeth.
Eleanor’s lips twitched for an instant before she smiled warmly at Isabel. And her own spine seemed to straighten just a little as she sent Ladies Candace and Whitney a sideways glance. After that, they were much more polite—as well as more subdued—allowing Eleanor and Isabel to guide the conversation.
After the women had left, Isabel considered going upstairs and ringing for a bath. The scullery maid stepped in to clear the trays. “Do you suppose it would be too rude to deny their visits in the future?” Isabel asked.
The maid looked around the room, then pointed to herself. “Are you speaking to me, my lady?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I would not know the proper response to such a situation, but I certainly wouldn’t want them to visit again. They were positively wretched.” She looked around the room again. “I shouldn’t have said that, though. Please forgive me, my lady.”
Isabel smiled at the girl, who was most likely about the same age as herself. “What is your name?”
“Katie, my lady.” She bobbed in a curtsy.
“Well, Katie, I completely agree and couldn’t have said it better myself.” Isabel came to her feet. She felt rather proud of how she’d handled the situation. “Of course, Lady Eleanor was rather pleasant, I believe, but she has caught herself up with those other ladies who are most unkind.” She bent to gather more of the dishes, but Katie jumped to the task, so Isabel stepped back. She briefly wondered what Jason would think of how she’d managed the women and their goading.
Katie said nothing else about the matter while she cleaned up the tea and cakes, readying the tray to remove it.
“That will be all,” Jason said from the door.
Katie curtsied and quickly left the room, tray in tow.
He stepped out of the maid’s way as she exited. “It is not customary to befriend the servants, Isabel,” he said gently.
“Her company is preferable to many,” Isabel said.
He nodded. “Yes, I heard you had visitors.”
“Indeed.” She stood behind one of the chairs, smoothed her hands against the upholstery. “I believe they came primarily to mock me, though I don’t understand why. I do not even know them.”
“Jealousy,” he said as if that explained everything.
She snorted. “I can’t imagine what I have that they’d be jealous about.”
He put his hand to his chest, feigning pain. “I should be offended.”
She watched him as a grin slid into place. He was ridiculously handsome when he smiled, so much so that it was hard to concentrate.
“I jest,” he said.
She smiled in return. “Of course, I meant no offense to you. I simply cannot fathom what they’d find so desirable about my life, since they already have busy lives of their own. Unless you are telling me that a portion of the women in London are in love with you.”
He hung his head and shook it gently. “Alas, it is true. I have left a string of broken hearts.”
She laughed despite the ludicrousness of the situation. “I overheard them at the dressmaker’s shop speaking about you. One of them seemed rather smitten, so you could consider yourself the breaker of at least one heart in London.”
His brows rose, then he nodded with recognition. “Candace Henning, yes, I remember seeing her as I was exiting the shop. I was to be nothing but a conquest to her.”
“She was very pretty,” Isabel said.
“Isabel, you are beautiful, stunning. More so than any other woman in London.”
Her entire body warmed under his gaze and kind words.
“You are a lost princess. That is the makings of a little girl’s fantasy.”
“You find me beautiful?” she asked dumbly.
He chuckled. “That is what you heard. Come, we shall go upstairs and have another lesson.”
She dared hope it was a lesson in lovemaking, but as they climbed the staircase all the way to the top, she knew it was fencing. She’d grown to love the sport, had sneaked up to practice every free moment she had. She felt rather accomplished now, and welcomed the physical release.
…
“I could have already cut you on more than one occasion,” Jason said. Ever since their first lesson in fencing, Jason had wanted to spar with her again. Today he’d been unable to wait any longer.
“Your skills are more refined than mine,” she said.
“True, but I do not believe that is the problem. You are distracted. We do not have to continue. Perhaps you’d prefer additional lessons from my mother on how better to fit in with ladies of the ton.”
Her eyes flared with anger, and he suppressed the urge to smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” She jabbed him with her foil, her steps more precise and strong. “I believe I managed the situation, and I sincerely doubt those particular women will visit again.”
He lifted a brow. “It was only a suggestion, considering how this first visit went. I suspect you’ll receive more visitors and likely some invitations to attend tea with other ladies in Town.”
“They were mocking me,” she said, again jabbing at him, her anger evident in every move. “I believe it might be the last time.”
And just like that, she was in a furious battle where their foils clanged against each other. She met every lunge, every strike.
“You’ve been practicing,” he said.
“Perhaps a little,” she admitted.
“But you have some moves that I haven’t taught you yet,” he said after a particularly crafty placement of her foil.
She tilted her head, and her brows rose. “I might have found a book on fencing in the library.”
“A book?”
“Or two.” She made a surprising move that had him jumping backward to avoid her blow, and then laughed.
“Well done.” They bowed to each other before she collapsed onto the padded flooring. He fell to the floor with her, pulling off his gloves.
She shook her head. “They do not even know me.”
“No, they do not,” he said, trying to keep his tone measured. He rolled onto his side to face her.
Then she laughed, though it was a cold sound absent of any mirth. “Of course I don’t know me, either. Not truly.”
“Isabel,” he said gently.
She held up a hand to stop him. “No, ’tis true. Here I am trying to…” She shook her head. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper.
“What what is like?”
“To not truly be whom everyone believes you to be.”
He was quiet for a moment, simply watched her. How had this slip of a woman come into his life and seen straight into the core of everything? “You might be surprised as to what I know.”
She turned her whole body to face him. And in that moment, he no more could have denied himself a kiss than he could a breath. He leaned forward and placed his lips onto hers.
Jason pressed into her, her lips parted, and what had begun as tenderness changed abruptly to hunger. He took her mouth with a ferocity that surprised even him.
His tongue slid into her mouth, met hers, and merged as if they were one, as if this were the woman he’d been meant to kiss. He explored until he thought he would go mad from wanting her. And he kept enough of his senses to keep his hands in place, to not run them over her body. But this was the moment to explore her pleasure. He’d exhausted his body physically from their sparring. He would have expert control over his desires.
There was no denying, no pretending, what he wanted. He wanted desperately to spend the rest of the day exploring her every curve. But more than that he wanted to give her what she wanted. He would pleasure her until she forgot the wretched things those foul women had said.