What You Deserve (Anything for Love, Book 3) (18 page)

Damn it all. He felt like a boy fresh from the schoolroom. “I want you so badly I have lost all use of my faculties.”

Her sweet giggle made his cock twitch. “Sit down. Let me help you.”

He dropped into the nearest chair as requested, watched with fascination as her sumptuous breasts wobbled with each tug of his boot. There was something erotic about the way she undressed him, something alluring about her lack of embarrassment. Indeed, he rather suspected she enjoyed the way he devoured her body with just his eyes.

When his cock sprang free of his breeches, she clambered up to sit astride him. “You’ve had a tiring day.” The sweet timbre of her voice fuelled his desire. “Let me ease your tension.”

He expected her to rain kisses along the line of his jaw, to stroke the muscles in his chest with slow sensual caresses. He did not expect her to wrap her dainty fingers around his throbbing cock, to guide him into position and sink slowly down until she had taken the full length of him.

“Bloody hell.”

A long, pleasurable sigh left her lips. “Oh, we have waited so long for this,” she whispered as she began to ride him.

He gripped the soft flesh at her hips, forced his eyes to stay open as he did not want to miss a single second.

“Do you mind that I have taken the lead?” She rolled her hips and took him deeper into her core, her full breasts coming but a few inches from his mouth.

“Hell, no. I am yours. You may do what you want with me.”

A whimper left her lips when he moved his hands to caress her breasts, the pad of his thumb grazing the hard pink nipples. He wanted to lavish the peaks with his tongue, but he would have a lifetime to explore her body.

He watched her with a feeling of wonder. Her rich brown eyes smoldered with an intensity that stole his breath. His restless hands moved over her body, stroking the sweet flesh at the apex of her thighs until her eyes glazed, until she trembled and cried out his name.

“Oh, Tristan. I … I have missed you.”

Damn. The sight of her body quivering with the effects of her release was so magnificent he doubted he would last much longer. Indeed, as her tight muscles pulsed around his length, he knew he would have to move.

Rousing all the strength he could muster, he held her to his damp body, stood and then lowered her down to the floor.

The first thrust, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, caused a guttural groan to burst from his lips. He thought to take his time, to savour every moment, but the urge to pound into her, again and again, took hold.

Digging her fingernails into his buttocks, she spurred him on, drove him long and hard until beads of sweat trickled down his spine, until the moist sound of their joining was sweet music to his ears.

“Don’t stop.” Her breath breezed over him. “Don’t ever stop loving me.”

His heart swelled to gargantuan proportion, the rush of blood filling his cock until he was about ready to burst. “I … I need to withdraw,” he gasped though he was reluctant to leave her warm, wet body.

“Must you?”

Good Lord. He would love nothing more than to spill his seed inside her — to claim her, to make her his, to find a way to cement their souls together for all eternity.

But he was not a selfish man.

Suppressing a groan of disappointment he took himself in hand, though she continued to stroke and caress him until he shuddered with the power of his release.

Struggling to catch his breath, he collapsed on top of her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him tight. As his mind cleared, he took a moment to say a silent prayer of thanks, an expression of gratitude for the force of fate that had worked to bring them together.

They remained in the drawing room for another
hour, moved to her bedchamber once they had found the energy to climb the stairs. They ate in her chamber. He loved her into the early hours. Their joining, whilst carnal, conveyed a depth of tenderness and emotion that touched his soul.

“Happiness feels so much more profound when you have experienced sadness,” she mused.

He trailed his fingers over the curve of her hip as they lay naked on the bed. “I never thought to feel this way again,” he said, acknowledging the truth to her words. “It has always been you. I know I will never feel this way with another.”

She smiled, caressed his cheek as she stared into his eyes. “Then we will let nothing keep us apart.”

Chapter 15

The line of carriages stretched all the way along the length of Wigmore Street and once around the circular gardens in the centre of Cavendish Square. A man with nothing better to do could have counted their number which was sure to reach fifty or more.

Tristan was grateful he had chosen to walk. There was little point scanning the row of conveyances looking for Isabella. A grey mist hung in the air like a grimy veil, blurring the lines, so one had to squint to see anything clearly. The drivers’ cries cut through the smoky air as they attempted to ward others away from jumping the queue. Carriage doors opened and slammed shut. Hazy black shadows swarmed the pavement as gentlemen decided to abandon their vehicles and walk.

In stark contrast to the gloomy atmosphere outside, the interior of the Holbrooks’ ballroom was so bright it was blinding. Mirrors stretching from floor to ceiling covered the walls between the long windows. The reflection of numerous chandeliers enhanced the brilliant ambiance. The pale blue and gilt decor gave a light, airy appearance despite there being far too many people packed into the decadent room.

Walking over to the terrace doors, as that was where he had told Isabella he would wait, Tristan was shocked to see Matthew Chandler propped up against a white marble statue of a naked Grecian goddess.

“I thought you were in Bedfordshire.” Chandler straightened and gave an arrogant grin. “Did your business prove to be unsatisfying?”

Tristan smiled. “Not at all. I managed to achieve a great deal in the space of a relatively short period.” He glanced at the double doors leading into the ballroom, anticipating Isabella’s arrival. “Let us just say that my mood is much improved since I last saw you.”

“Ah, I see. You are waiting for someone.” Chandler missed nothing.

“Perhaps.” Tristan was deliberately vague as he knew his friend thrived on intrigue. “I assume you’re here for the card game.”

“Why would you think that?” Chandler said with a smirk. “No. I am here to ravish a wallflower in the hope she’ll marry me and fund my penchant for reckless gambling.”

The gentleman had no shame. “You’re here for the gambling, though I suspect that will be the extent of your activities this evening.”

Chandler raised an arrogant brow. “One never knows when good fortune may strike. In an hour, I could be celebrating a great victory and then I shall have no choice but to find a pleasurable way to channel my excitement.”

Tristan snorted. “Or you may drown your sorrows in a bottle of brandy whilst cradling a loaded pistol in your lap.”

Chandler brushed his hand through his mop of black hair. “It would never come to that. There are plenty of ways to recoup one’s losses without resorting to desperate measures.” He glanced up at the statue’s bare marble breasts. “It may require selling my soul to a lonely widow or two.”

Tristan chuckled, amazed that the gentleman could be so calm whilst anticipating such a dire outcome. “I doubt it will be your soul that you’ll be selling.”

Chandler laughed, too. “As you’re so jovial this evening, am I to assume you are eager to be reunited with Isabella? I cannot help but wonder what has happened in the space of three days to alter your mood.”

It occurred to him that his friend could prove to be a useful ally in his investigation. Chandler knew the sordid habits of many gentlemen of the
ton
. “You are well aware I did not go to Bedfordshire.”

Chandler slapped his hand to his chest in surprise but could not hide his wicked grin. “Then where the blazes have you been?”

Tristan glanced back over his shoulder. “Hoddesdon.”

“Hoddesdon? You mean the village on the road to Cambridge?”

“Isabella lives at Highley Grange, but half a mile from there.” Tristan hesitated. If Marcus were here, he would caution him about trusting a man he had not seen for five years. “Can I trust you, Matthew?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

Chandler jerked his head back in surprise. “You should not have to ask the question. I am not a gentleman who needs friends or companions. I told you once that I would never forget what you did for me, and I meant it.”

Tristan put his hand on Chandler’s shoulder. “There is a reason Isabella sought me out. She believes someone may have murdered her husband. My brother Andrew was travelling from Hoddesdon when he fell from his horse and broke his neck. She thinks both incidents are connected.”

Chandler rubbed his chin. “Or are both unfortunate accidents and she wanted an excuse to be alone with you.”

The mere thought of being alone with Isabella roused the memory of their passionate coupling.

“There is more to the whole situation than that,” he said scrambling around in his mind as he tried to find the best way to tell his friend that he had been chasing ghosts. “Isabella has been the victim of foul play. Whilst at Highley Grange we discovered that Henry Fernall arranged for the servants to frighten her into believing the house was haunted. Indeed, she had taken a house in Brook Street for fear of going home.”

Chandler nodded slowly as he absorbed the information. “And so now you wonder as to Henry’s motive. Now, you wonder if the accidents are in some way related.”

“Precisely. Do not mistake me. Isabella told me about her husband’s sordid parties.” God, he hated referring to Lord Fernall as her husband. “I can only presume to imagine what sort of things went on there.”

“You know I am always the first in line when it comes to seeking pleasure,” Chandler said, his mouth curling up into a wicked grin. “But I cannot understand what is enjoyable about hiding in a secret room to watch unsuspecting couples grunt and groan.”

Tristan jerked his head back, blinked rapidly, as he replayed Chandler’s words over again in his mind. “You mean you know about the secret room in the bedchamber?” He grasped Chandler’s elbow and pulled him into the alcove for he strained to hear whilst the orchestra were playing in full flow. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

Chandler shrugged. “I did not think it important. It is certainly not a secret amongst the more dissipated echelons of the
ton
. It is why I was more inclined to believe he met his end at the hands of a disgruntled guest as opposed to his wife.”

Tristan raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “Lord Fernall was alone with Isabella when he died. There is no way to prove someone else was involved.”

“Had it not been for Henry’s involvement I would have told you to forget about Lord Fernall. You’ve spent five years pining for a lost love. Now you have found each other again you deserve to find some happiness.” Chandler sighed. “But even my inert instincts tell me something isn’t quite right.”

Tristan thought so, too. The niggling doubt in the back of his mind refused to be tempered. What if Andrew had discovered something sinister? What if he ignored his intuition and something untoward happened to Isabella?

“Have you heard any rumours regarding Henry Fernall?” Tristan had never been one to pay much attention to gossip.

“He doesn’t gamble. Well, we do not frequent the same establishments, and I have not heard tales of unpaid debt.” Chandler pursed his lips. “Mrs. Forrester is his mistress. Some say he is besotted with the woman, but I find he always has a look on his face that shows displeasure in most things.”

Relief flooded Tristan’s chest. He had feared Henry Fernall’s intention was to make Isabella his mistress. Why else would he have wanted her to live at Grangefields? Unless he intended to use Highley Grange for another purpose.

Chandler’s sharp and sudden intake of breath broke his reverie. “Well, well.” Chandler’s wide eyes focused on a point in the distance. “It appears you are not the only one to return from your trip thoroughly transformed.”

Tristan followed Chandler’s curious gaze, raising himself up on his toes as he scanned the tightly packed throng. A vibrant burst of yellow caught his attention as a few gasps of surprise drifted through the charged air.

“Most people believe yellow to be an ostentatious colour,” Chandler mused in a tone reminiscent of the night they had observed Isabella at the masquerade. “Some would say it suggests the wearer is rather pretentious and self-absorbed.”

The smile on Tristan’s face as he watched Isabella approach, masked the sudden rush of lustful desire. He had expected her to wear grey or some other equally dull colour. With her delicate curves encased in the smooth satin, she sparkled with a vivacious sensuality. The hairs at his nape sprung to attention. The tiny receptors sent tingles and shivers shooting down his spine.

“Are you not the least bit interested to hear more,” Chandler added in a bid to capture his attention.

“Come then. I know you are dying to give me your opinion.”