Chapter Twenty
Isabel sat on the edge of a chair in her uncle’s parlor, staring nervously at the door he would soon enter through. After all the joy of the previous day, when Charlotte and Ewan’s baby had joined the world to such happy fanfare, she had returned to the house to find a message from Uncle Fenton.
He had not contacted her since the ugliness they had exchanged at her wedding. She’d considered his silence a good sign. Perhaps he was cooling off, coming back to the rational man that she had to believe still lived inside of him.
The hope for that made her hide the message from Matthew and come here, uncertain of what she’d find. If her husband had insisted on coming with her, she would guess it would not have been good. She had to be an example for them both, opening doors between them behind the scenes, or at least steering each man away from anger and revenge.
It was her duty as someone who loved them both.
The door to the parlor opened and she rose as her uncle entered. She jerked her hand to her mouth. He was completely undone. In the ten days since she’d seen him, he had lost nearly a stone. His clothing hung off his already slender shoulders and there were deep circles beneath his eyes. He was sloppy and untucked, and he swayed slightly as he entered the chamber and speared her with a glance.
“Hello, Isabel,” he slurred.
She flinched. “Uncle,” she said softly. “You are drunk.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Drunk or sober, life is the same.”
She frowned and came forward to take his arm. He allowed it and took the seat she guided him to. She smoothed a lock of hair away from his forehead and shook her head. “You must see you are out of control. You must see that you need some kind of…help.”
For a moment he met her eyes. There was desperation there. Longing, like he might agree that he’d gone too far. But then he blinked and the anger he used as a shield against his pain returned.
“I do want your help. No one is talking anymore.”
She sighed as she took a place on the settee. “Talking about what?”
He waved his hand at her wildly. “You. And him. At first it was all I’d hoped for. A scandal to bring him down a peg. But then you married and the talk faded.”
“Yes, didn’t the Countess of Longview leave her husband in some kind of public row in Hyde Park? I assume they are all atwitter about that.”
He scowled. “It’s as if what he did doesn’t matter.”
“Please listen to me,” she said, scooting to the front of the settee and reaching out to take his hands. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. She tilted her head to find his gaze and held it there. “Matthew didn’t do anything.”
“No,” he said.
“He didn’t,” she repeated softly. “I have heard what happened that night and I believe his story.”
“No!” he repeated, jumping to his feet. “But you are the only one who can reveal the truth now.”
She bent her head. His drive, it had crossed into the realm of madness, and though she felt for him, pitied him, she was also tired of this argument and the accusations that went along with it.
“I’m telling you the truth.” She got up. “You just don’t want to listen.”
“You are close to him now. It is repugnant, but we can use it.” His eyes lit up.
Isabel stared. “Use it to what, exactly?”
“Spy on him. Force him to reveal his secrets.”
She turned away, pacing to the window, where she gripped her fists at her sides and tried to regain a fraction of control over herself. Emotions bubbled up in her: pain and empathy, anger and defensiveness, and loss. So much loss, because it felt like she would never have her uncle back again. This man left in the wake of his grief was…not him.
She slowly faced him. “I want you to hear me, Uncle Fenton. Truly hear me. I understand your drive to avenge your daughter. I understand you believe, in your deepest heart, in the very corners of your soul, that Matthew is at fault for her loss. But that does not mean it’s accurate. And I will not now, nor will I ever be party to causing him harm. Do I make myself clear?”
He stared at her, unspeaking, for what felt like an eternity. His gaze went blank at last and he got up. “Then you are of no use. I must only help myself. And I do not think we shall see each other again.”
She caught her breath as renewed pain ripped through her. She had loved her uncle all her life. Nothing he had done or said had erased the kindnesses he had once shown her, or eliminated the many things they had in common. But he looked at her now like she was a stranger. And in turn, he was a stranger to her, too.
“If you cannot see reason, then perhaps that is best,” she whispered. “I’ll leave you now. Goodbye.”
He hesitated, his frown deepening. Then he nodded. “Goodbye, Isabel. Goodbye.”
She threw her shoulders back, trying to keep her dignity as she walked from the room. But when she had climbed back into her carriage, when she had started on her way back home, she couldn’t help but slide down in the seat and cry.
Matthew heard Isabel enter the foyer and looked up from his book in surprise. She had been going to call on Sarah and told him to expect her to be gone for the afternoon. But it had been less than an hour since her departure.
Not that he minded her return. He was beginning to miss her when she wasn’t there.
He set his book aside and stepped into the hall. “You are early,” he said. “Come have tea with me.”
She glanced away from Portman and toward him, and his stomach dropped. She had been crying. It was clear on her face as she trudged toward him.
“I may need something stronger than tea,” she said as she lifted to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
He wrinkled his brow and followed her into the parlor, shutting the door behind them so they could have privacy. She sank onto the settee with a long, ragged sigh and covered her eyes with her hand. A thousand questions raced through his mind. What had happened? Why had she come home? What could he do to ease the pain that was so obvious in every fiber of her being?
He wanted to do so desperately.
So he started with a drink and poured her a sherry from the sideboard. When he handed it over to her, she laughed briefly. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to drink.”
She took a sip and winced before she set the glass aside. He took a place next to her and took her hand, lifting it to his lips as he searched her unhappy face. “What happened?”
She flinched and her gaze darted away. He knew that look. He’d seen it so many times on her face. It was an expression of guilt, and his stomach clenched at the sight of it. He pushed the reaction aside.
“Did you quarrel with Sarah?” he asked, already knowing that wasn’t the truth. Needing her to confess it regardless. Needing to know that she would.
She didn’t disappoint. “I didn’t go to see Sarah,” she admitted as she dropped her head. “I-I lied to you.”
He gritted his teeth. “I thought we were past lies, Isabel. Are we not?”
“I know,” she whispered, and her voice trembled with real pain that touched his heart even as he tried to close it off because she’d been untrue, yet again. “I was foolish. I thought I was protecting you.”
He shook his head. “Protecting me? Where did you go?” She glanced at him and he sucked in a breath. “Your uncle. You went to see Winter.”
She nodded slowly. “I received a summons from him yesterday, while we were away at Ewan and Charlotte’s. In the excitement you didn’t see it. I didn’t want to upset you, and I didn’t want you to interfere and have everything be worse. So I hid it and lied to you about where I was going.”
He pushed to his feet and paced away. He was angry at the deception, of course, especially considering their history. But he also understood her motives in some way.
“You went alone to see him,” he said at last. “I don’t like that, Isabel. He is…”
“Unhinged,” she finished for him, and it was on a sob.
He pivoted, and his heart softened. Her head was in her hands and she struggled with what was obviously great grief. Whatever he thought of Fenton Winter, whatever he had suffered at the blunt end of his accusations, he knew without a doubt that Isabel loved the man. She didn’t agree with him or his terrible methods, but she did love him.
And seeing him unravel broke her heart. That mattered to Matthew. It mattered more than whatever anger he had that she would keep the truth from him.
He retook his seat and gathered her against him, holding her gently as he smoothed his hands along her trembling back and let her pour her pain into him. He took it all, holding her safe as she wept, and found himself comforted by the exchange. Her pain was easier to bear than his own in some ways. And taking it lessened its power.
When she had calmed, she looked up into his face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Of course you are.” He leaned forward to kiss her temple. “Now tell me what happened to so upset you.”
She recited the details of the encounter slowly, and his heart sank with each one. What she was describing was truly a man on the edge. And while he had been threatening Matthew for years and Matthew was certain he would never actually follow through on any real plans, it was still disturbing to know that he was trying to wield Isabel as a weapon.
“I told him I would never involve myself in a plot to hurt you,” she said at last. “And he told me we didn’t need to see each other again.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I realize how much that must hurt you.”
“It does,” she admitted. “He was all the family I had left. There are a few cousins here and there, but I was never close to them. But I’m more afraid than anything.”
“Why? Because he was trying, once again, to find a way to cause me grief?” he asked. “Darling, he’s been doing that for so long, I hardly recall a time when he wasn’t. I appreciate the concern, but there is no reason.”
She grabbed for his arm and clung with both hands. “But Matthew—”
“Shhh,” he soothed her, drawing her close again. “I promise you, there’s nothing to fear. In truth, now that his last connection to me is severed, he might just settle back down. It could be for the best.”
“I still think he’s dangerous,” she insisted. “I’m afraid for you.”
He blinked as he looked down into her face. She was utterly serious in her concern for him. And the recognition of how deeply she cared, how driven she was to protect him, highlighted the closeness they had developed since the night at the Donville Masquerade, a lifetime ago.
And even more surprising was how he felt the same for her. A drive to comfort her. Help her. Soothe her.
He slid his fingers along the curve of her jawline and dropped his lips to hers.
For a moment, the kiss was gentle. Sweet. But it swiftly deepened and moved toward the powerful physical connection they shared. He knew one way to make her forget everything but pleasure. And if the way she lifted against him was any indication, it was a way she wanted to explore, as well.
He dropped to his knees before her, cupping her cheeks as he continued kissing her. He could feel her smiling against his lips, trembling as her hands fisted against his arms. There was surrender in her taste and her soft sighs as he broke his mouth away and dragged it down her throat.
“Lay back,” he ordered as he nudged his way between her legs with his shoulders and then began to slide her skirt up.
She looked like she might argue for one brief moment, but then she sighed, closed her eyes and rested her head back. She was trusting him completely with her body and her pleasure. He wanted to reward that trust. He wanted to grant her pleasure and take his own from watching her.
The skirt bunched at her knees and he leaned down to kiss each one in turn. She gasped and her eyes came open. She watched him kiss higher, his tongue tracing the inner line of her thigh as he parted her legs even farther.
When he pushed her skirt up over her stomach, he smiled and glanced up at her. “No drawers?”
She bit her lip and shrugged. “You said you wanted a little swan here and there.”
“Here,” he said, pressing his hand between her legs and smiling as she gasped in pleasure. She was already wet, and he parted her folds and spread the damp evidence of her desire across the hot opening of her sex. “And there.”
She murmured some kind of incoherent reply, which he ignored as he adjusted himself into place and then dropped his mouth to her. She opened wider with a cry, her hands coming to grip his hair as he traced her sex, reveling in her sweet, clean flavor. In the way she lifted to meet every stroke as he tasted each inch of her body.
“Please,” she murmured, her head thrashing on the settee as she lifted her hips to meet the strokes of his tongue. “Please, please.”
He continued to toy with her, stoking the ever-burning fire of her desire. He was of two minds. If he focused on the slick bud of her clitoris, he could have her screaming out his name and bucking against his tongue in moments.
Or he could draw this out. Draw her out. Give her even greater anticipation before she finally exploded around him.
The second seemed the best option. He glided his tongue along her length, specifically avoiding the place where she needed him most. She rocked helplessly and glared down at him. He smiled against her skin and responded by pressing two fingers into her sheath.
She gripped him immediately, her heat drawing him as far as he could go. He curled his fingers, watching as she mewled and contorted against the pleasure. He went on like that, curling and licking, sucking and teasing, until her breath was short and her fists pounded against the settee cushions in a silent plea for release.
Gone from her beautiful face was any regret or pain. Forgotten was trouble and anxiety. For both of them. Giving her this moment of pleasure was certainly a great one for him. One he appreciated almost as much as the moments when her shaking body milked him to completion.
He nipped her clitoris gently and she bucked as her eyes went wide. She was nodding now, probably not even recognizing she was doing it. Encouraging him to give her what she needed. To free her from pleasurable torment at last.
So he did. He sucked her clitoris, rolling his tongue around and around the slick bud. She ground against him, her back arching nearly off the settee until finally her hips began to buck out of control. She thrashed, the rippling waves of her orgasm sucking his fingers even deeper as he drew the pleasure out until she flopped, spent and weak, on the settee cushions. Satisfied at last.
He leaned her body up, pulling her to him as he kissed her, let her taste the flavor of her pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his neck, probing his lips with her tongue with a lazy sensuality that came purely from her very good instincts.
She opened her eyes and held his stare. They were close now. Too close, he would have once said. Today, it felt exactly close enough.
“Take me upstairs,” she whispered. “And let’s do that again.”
He grinned before he pressed his mouth hard to hers, tugged her into his arms, and did just that.