A Lady of Persuasion (26 page)

They kissed slowly, and then deeply. And then quite urgently.

His arousal pulsed against her thigh, and her own body throbbed and ached for him.

“Tell me you want it,” he whispered against her neck. “God, tell me soon, or I swear I shall die.

I’ve wanted you all day, every moment. So fiercely I thought I’d explode with it. Say the words, Isabel. Let me in.”

Bel felt a wide, giddy smile stretching her face. At last. He might have her bound by the wrists and panting with pleasure, but she had him naked and desperate and utterly tied in knots. And now, all the power was hers.

She hooked one leg over his and ground against him in invitation.

“Isabel,”
he groaned. “Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

“You have to say it,” he demanded, in that curt, arousing voice.

She laughed. He lifted his head, and their eyes locked.

“No, I don’t,” she said, giving him a coy smile.

His amber-flecked eyes warmed with understanding. “You tease,” he accused, a grin spreading across his face. And then, taking her mouth, “That’s my girl.”

He kissed her passionately, moaning against her mouth as he lifted her hips and—merciful heaven—
finally
slid into her.

Oh, it felt so perfect. So right.

Holding steady deep within her, he reached over her head to untie the cravat. Once her hands were free, they flew straight to him. He took her in strong, deep strokes, and she explored his body boldly with her fingers, caressing him in places she’d never dared to touch before: the taut swell of his buttock, the downy slope of his thigh. She felt free now, free to possess all of him. Locking her ankles behind his back, she reached under them, to touch where their bodies joined—his hard, thick shaft sliding in and out of her body, the soft, vulnerable sac beneath.

He swore. “I can’t—”

She squeezed gently, and he groaned.

“I—God, I can’t stop it.”

“Don’t try.” She raised both hands to his shoulders and clung to him tight. “Just let go.”

Grasping her hips, he took her hard and fast, driving her back toward the edge of that blissful nothingness.

And in that last moment of delicious tension before she cried out in release, Bel thought to herself—if she never returned from it, she would not mind.

The next morning, Bel knew she must have gone mad sometime during the night. Surely she must be seeing things.

Lambs.

Honestly,
lambs
. White, fluffy, innocent lambs frolicking on a sloping green. They even made adorable little bleating noises to one another.

As if Wynterhall weren’t idyllic enough already—as if Bel hadn’t just spent the morning touring what was now her very own enchanted castle and made the acquaintance of a benevolent house staff surely taken from the pages of some fairy story—now Toby had swept her out onto the terrace to see the well-tended gardens.

And greet the lambs.

Really. Even for her, this was a bit much. And it felt so incongruously innocent, after the torrid night of passion they’d shared. She could scarcely look at Toby this morning without blushing.

“Are they pets?” she asked, as one of the bleating creatures nosed her skirts. “Some sort of pastoral decoration, like park deer?”

Toby chuckled. “No, they’re a nuisance. We’re overrun with the creatures. Our steward increased the flock last autumn—with the new stocking factory down the river, wool is a good investment. And then it was a particularly fruitful spring for lambing, I gather. Now we’re drowning in the things.”

Together they walked across the green. The grass was still damp with the last touch of morning dew.

“They were meant to have the north fields for pasture,” Toby continued. “But those plans met with a bit of a snag when the north fields flooded last month, and now… now, they’re rather everywhere. It’s positively biblical, isn’t it?” He tugged sharply on her hand. “Watch your step, darling. Their leavings are everywhere, too.”

“Oh!” Bel hopped, narrowly missing the offense to her slippers.

Toby gave her a sheepish grin. “This is rural life, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be concerned on my account. I grew up on a plantation. I spent my childhood tossing grain to the chickens and gathering eggs.”

“Truly? You were made to tend chickens?”

“Oh, no one made me. I wanted to do it.” Bel bit back a laugh. “I’ll tell you a secret, if you like.”

“I would like.”

“I used to redistribute their eggs, depending on how well I liked the hens. My favorites, I tallied as good layers—whether or not it was the truth. If one pecked my fingers, however, she would be …” Bel shrugged.

“Dinner.” He gave her an exaggerated look of reproach. “You scheming thing, you. I tell you, my entire opinion of you has changed. I’ll never look at you the same again.”

Bel made a show of laughing, because she knew him to be in jest. She knew it in her mind, but still, some anxious twist of her belly argued otherwise.

“What confessions you make,” he said. “I shall make you wait years to hear mine, until you are old and feeble and mostly deaf. Even then, I’ll have to surround you with pillows in the event you fall over with shock.”

“I think I’d just as soon never know.”

“Yes, that’s probably best.” They had crossed the green now and entered a wooded glen. Toby turned them onto a narrow, root-scored path. “This is the way to Yorke Manor.”

“Then why would we wish to follow it?” she asked.

“Why, to visit Mr. Yorke.”

“Truly? But you’re opponents.” Wouldn’t it be awkward for the two of them to meet, socially?

Bel would find it awkward, at any rate.

“Yes, we’re opponents since yesterday. But we’ve been friends for years, and neighbors since I was born. None of that is negated by the election.”

“You’re right, of course.” Bel sighed. It hadn’t been very gracious of her to object. She felt so on edge with Toby this morning, as though he would disapprove of her every remark. Perhaps it was the pressure of entering this grand estate as its mistress.

No, of course not. She knew her anxieties stemmed from their lovemaking yesterday. And last night. And very early this morning.

By all evidence, Toby had been well pleased with their use of the ancestral bed—as had she—

but Bel worried that he would regard her differently, now that she’d been so bold with him.

Had any of his respect for her survived the night?

“Do you know, your little chickens tale started me thinking.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Me, thinking.” He gave her a self-effacing look. “Hard to credit, I know.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know it.” Smiling, he took her hand in his. “But I was thinking, about what a supremely fortunate fellow I am. I get along with most everyone, Isabel. There are many people I like, many people I call friend—but in all my life, I’ve met few individuals I can honestly say I admire. Do you know what I mean?”

“Perhaps,” she answered carefully, worried about where she now fell in that divide. “But we each have a measure of goodness. Surely one can find
something
—some act or personal quality—to admire in any person.”

“Surely
you
can do so—but you are better than me. No, I can count only a small number of my acquaintances that I deem worthy of unequivocal admiration. Can you guess who they might be?”

“Your mother?” That was an easy guess. Isabel admired her mother-in-law, too, for her sharp wit and easy grace.

“Yes, for one. Mr. Yorke is another.” He laughed a little. “And if I ever wanted to start an interesting scene, I should gather them both in the same room and tell them so.” With his free hand, he picked up a fallen branch and swung it idly, swatting at the bushes and vines as they went. “Don’t you see? If there are only a handful of people I can admire in the world, how lucky am I? I was born to one of them, grew up a stone’s throw from another …” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “And now I’ve managed to marry a third.”

Bel’s heart warmed. How did he do it? How did he always intuit just exactly what she needed to hear and then speak the words so convincingly? It was beyond charm, it was … She didn’t even know what to call it. “Toby, that’s very …”
Romantic? Generous? Undeserved?
“…

sweet.”

“Sweet?” He hurried forward a step, then swung around to face her, halting her progress.

Suddenly, his tone wasn’t teasing anymore—simply husky and soft. “It’s nothing to do with being sweet. I’m being honest.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me?”

“Lie to you?” Pausing, he gave her a little smile. “Never.”

And how could she doubt him, when he looked at her thus—with those amber-flecked eyes warm with admiration, wide enough to reflect all her hopes and dreams?

“I honestly meant what I told you yesterday,” he told her, skipping his finger from the crown of her head, to her brow, to the tip of her nose, to her chin. “I admire every part of you, inside and out. And I’m … I’m simply so very grateful.”

“Grateful?” she breathed. “For what?”

“For the fact you’re not wearing a bonnet this morning.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

She almost laughed into his kiss, for in that moment Bel was grateful, too—and for an equally absurd reason. Not because she’d married a man who could turn her insides to jelly with a smile, or because he’d made her mistress of her very own lovely, lamb-plagued castle. Not even because she trusted him so implicitly, so completely that she could accept not only kisses, but pleasure and praise from these lips.

No, in that moment she was overwhelmed with a most vain sort of gratitude—for the fact that Toby was tall. Taller than she, when so many men weren’t. She would always have to reach for his kiss—stretch her neck, arch her feet—and feel just a bit girlish and uncertain and excited as she did. This kiss would never lose its thrill.

A giddy bubble of infatuation rose in her belly. By sheer force of will, she tamped it down. She may have lost the struggle against desire, but she was doubly resolved to guard her heart.

Desire would inevitably fade—but love?

Love had a way of altering one’s priorities. And Bel needed to keep hers intact.

She pulled away, and he growled deep in his throat.

“Yes, that’s enough of that,” he said, planting one last firm kiss on her lips before releasing her. “Else we’ll never make it to Yorke’s this morning.”

“Why is it we’re going there at all?”

“Just a matter of estate concern. It’s this business with the irrigation canal.”

“Ah, yes.” Isabel remembered her mother-in-law’s complaint. “Mr. Yorke went back on his agreement, simply to vex your mother?”

“I’m certain there’s more to it than that. Mother has a way of exaggerating when it comes to Yorke. You’d think him the three-eyed ogre under the bridge, rather than the neighbor living across it.” Their boots made hollow clunking noises as he led her over the graying planks that bridged a small rill. “I hope you don’t mind the walk,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d feel up to the carriage just yet.”

“No,” Bel agreed, her pulse accelerating at the mere mention of yesterday’s calamity. She’d be just as happy never to ride in a carriage again.

“And I suppose I could have left you at home and allowed you to rest,” he continued, winking at her. “But I’m too selfish for that. This is our honeymoon, after all, and I mean to keep you close.”

They edged a wheat field in silence, walking arm in arm, and Isabel tilted her face to the warm June sunshine. If God had ever created a more beautiful morning, Isabel would still prefer this one. She didn’t think her heart could withstand a day that came any closer to perfection. If the breeze teasing the grain were just a degree warmer, if this sky were just a slightly deeper shade of blue … if her husband, the handsomest thing under the sun, winked at her just one more time—true disaster could strike.

She could fall in love.

“We have a problem.”

Toby frowned as Mr. Yorke tugged him closer to the garden hedge. Behind them, Isabel marveled over a clump of late-blooming strawberries, gathering the tiny red fruits in one palm.

Imagine, the dear girl had never seen strawberry plants. There were so many things he could show her, so many delights she’d never experienced.

“We have a serious problem,” Yorke whispered again. “This little plan of yours is off to an inauspicious start.”

“How so?” Toby asked.

“Let me give you a hint. If you don’t want the populace to support your candidacy, you shouldn’t go performing dashing heroics in front of the crowd. You’re the talk of the borough, after that little trick-riding stunt.”

Toby winced. He’d imagined that wouldn’t help his cause. “Well, I couldn’t have done differently. Should I have simply stood back and waited for disaster?”