The demand unleashed something inside her. She slid her hand down his arm to where his hand lay. She pulled back, meeting his gaze with more courage than she’d ever known she had, and moved his hand to capture her breast. When the heavy weight settled in his grasp, they both watched as he stroked his fingers across her breast, running the edge of his thumb over the place where her nipple pebbled beneath the fabric. She gasped at the sensation and their gazes collided.
“Tell me how it feels.”
She blushed. “I—I cannot.”
He repeated the caress and she sucked in another breath. “You can.”
She shook her head. “I have never—it is too much. Too good.”
He rewarded her with another long kiss as he slid one finger under the edge of her gown, running the back of it against her heated, straining skin. She cried out then, breaking the kiss, and he set his forehead against hers, a ghost of a smile playing across his swollen lips.
“It shall only get better.” The words were filled with heated promise.
He lifted her again, surprising her with the movement as he rose, then returned her to the chair with the utmost of ease. He leaned over her, bracing himself on the arms of the chair, and stole her lips once again, until she was left unable to move.
He pulled back then, and she opened her eyes to find an intense desire in his—quickly replaced with something she could only describe as determination. Confused by the change, she could only watch as he whispered, “I don’t know what you are hiding from, Isabel, but I will know soon enough. And if it is in my power to change it, I shall.”
Her mouth fell open at the words—so unexpected.
He pulled away from her then, and, even as she longed for more of his touch, he left the room, his movements as confident as his words had been.
Ten
Nick knew before he opened his eyes that someone was watching him.
Keeping his breath even, he considered his options.
He could hear soft, steady breathing coming from a few feet away. The intruder was close to him, near the bed, and not at all nervous. If this were a decade ago, and Nick were in Turkey, he would be unsettled by that fact—but he was in Yorkshire, stranded in a rainstorm, which left a rather limited group of possible visitors.
He did not smell orange blossoms, which meant that it was not Isabel who had joined him in his room that morning—unfortunate, that. He would have liked to have woken to her by his bedside. The events of the prior evening had only served to increase his curiosity about her; he’d never known a woman so passionate … and so mysterious. He wanted to discover everything there was to discover about her.
Yes, he would have liked to have woken to her in his bed, warm and lush, next to him, her honeyed gaze sleepy and welcoming. There was nothing in the world worth leaving a bed so well filled.
He snapped his attention back to the matter at hand. His visitor was not dangerous—that much he could tell—but now was not the time to fantasize about the lady of the manor. In fact, fantasizing about Isabel at all was a very dangerous task, indeed.
He opened his eyes and met a serious brown gaze, not altogether unlike the one he had been imagining.
“Good. You’re awake.”
Of all the possible intruders, Nick had not expected to find the young Earl of Reddich crouching low beside his bed, unblinking.
“It would seem so.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” James announced.
“I am sorry that I have kept you waiting,” Nick said dryly.
“It’s not a problem, really. I don’t have lessons for another hour.”
Nick sat up, the linen sheets falling to his bare waist as he ran one hand over his face to chase the sleep away. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that sneaking into guests’ bedchambers is bad manners?”
James tilted his head to one side. “I thought that was only girls’ rooms.”
Nick smiled. “Yes, well, it’s even more true for girls’ rooms.”
James nodded, as though Nick had just imparted some great secret. “I shall remember that.”
Hiding his amusement, Nick swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulling on the too-small dressing gown that had been offered to him the prior evening. Standing, he pulled the belt of the robe tight and turned back to the boy considering him from the opposite side of the bed.
The boy had an air of seriousness about him—a wariness in his brown eyes that was far beyond his years—Nick noticed as James tracked his movements, unable to keep his thoughts from going to Isabel; the seriousness was hereditary, it seemed.
“What can I do for you, Lord Reddich?”
James shook his head. “No one calls me that.”
“They should start doing so. You are the Earl of Reddich, are you not? ”
“Yes—”
“But?”
James chewed on one side of his lower lip. “But I don’t really do the things that earls do. I’m not old enough.” “What things are those? “ “Things my father did.”
“Yes, well, I’m not certain that I am old enough to do the things your father did,” Nick said, crossing to the opposite side of the room and splashing cold water from the basin set there onto his face. He pulled a linen cloth from the nearby towel stand and dried himself before turning back to the boy, who was now seated at the foot of the bed, watching him.
“I shall learn soon enough, I suppose,” James said, and Nick noted the lack of eagerness in his tone. “Isabel says that when you are through with your work in the statuary, we shall have enough money to send me to school.”