Chapter 21 #2
Isobel flushed a brilliant red, struggling to come to terms with the conditions he had stated. Within her, pride engaged in a battle with desperation, but desperation emerged the victor.
“Please,” Isobel gasped moments later, trying to tug him closer by the grip she had on his shoulder. “Please, Richard, I need – I need you to–”
He seemed to comply, increasing the pace of his fingers working in and out of her, but once again, he brought her to the edge and then pulled back, leaving her gasping and frustrated.
Tears of need pricked at her eyes, and she looked up at him with something that felt like a cross between devastation and desperation.
“I am begging you,” she whispered. “Please. I will do anything. Just please–”
Richard captured her mouth in a searing kiss, and this time, when his fingers found that perfect spot, he did not stop. The tension inside Isobel built impossibly higher, tighter, until finally – finally – it shattered.
Pleasure exploded through her body in waves so intense she could not breathe, could not think, could only feel. She cried out Richard's name, her body shaking as he worked her through the aftershocks, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.
When she finally came back to herself, she was trembling, her head resting against Richard's shoulder as she fought to catch her breath. Richard held her close, pressing soft kisses to her hair, her temple, her cheek.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You are so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”
Isobel lifted her head to look at him and saw the raw hunger in his eyes, the barely controlled desire. He had given her pleasure but taken none for himself – like always. It was then she realized with a flash of understanding that he was still holding back, still trying to protect her.
“I want all of you,” she said firmly, reaching for the fastenings of his breeches. “I want everything, Richard. Please.”
Richard caught her hands, his expression torn. “Isobel, are you certain? Once we do this, there is no going back. I will be your first, and you–”
“Will be your only,” Isobel interrupted, and saw him flinch at the reminder of how temporary this was. “For tonight, at least. And that is enough for me. Is it enough for you?”
For a long moment, Richard simply stared at her, and Isobel thought he might refuse, might be noble and honorable and send her away. But then something in his expression shifted, and she saw the moment he surrendered to what they both wanted.
“It will never be enough,” he said roughly, the confession hitting her heart deeply. “But I will take what I can have.”
This time, when Isobel reached for his breeches, he did not stop her. She freed him from the confining fabric, and her eyes widened at the sight of him – stiff and ready and intimidating in his arousal.
“Will it. Um… it is quite… girthier than I - will it fit?” she asked nervously, and the laugh he gave her in response was strained.
“It will,” he assured her. “But it may hurt at first. I will be as gentle as I can be and take it slow. I do not want to hurt you.”
He positioned himself at her entrance, and Isobel held her breath as she felt him begin to push forward. As their parts merged, his member slipped into her like a piece of a puzzle – the fit was tight but perfectly right, the pressure she felt was intense.
As was the pain. Isobel tried to inhale, but the ache startled a gasp out of her, and her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders.
“Breathe,” Richard coaxed, sounding just as winded as she was. “Just breathe, darling. I have you.”
He pushed forward gradually, giving her time to adjust, and Isobel focused on the sweet whispers and the endearments he was using, the tenderness in his voice despite the strain of holding back. When he encountered the final wall of her innocence, he paused, his eyes meeting hers.
“This will hurt,” he warned. “I am sorry.”
Isobel nodded, the fear not allowing her to speak, and he thrust forward, tearing through the barrier in one swift motion.
She realized that what she had thought was pain earlier was merely an ache.
This – this was pain. It hit her sharply, knocking the air out of her lungs, and Isobel cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Richard held completely still, murmuring apologies and praise against her hair, kissing away her tears as he gave her time to adjust.
Slowly, the pain began to fade, replaced by a feeling of fullness, of completion. Isobel shifted experimentally and gasped at the sensation – not pain this time, but pleasure.
“I – I-I think I am all right,” she whispered. “You can move.”
Richard began to move with exquisite care, his thrusts slow and controlled. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure through Isobel's body, and she found herself meeting his rhythm, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him deeper.
“God, Isobel,” Richard groaned, his control beginning to wane again. “You feel incredible. So tight, so perfect.”
The praise made Isobel bold, and she dragged her nails down his back, delighting in the way he shuddered. His pace increased, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, and Isobel felt that tension building again, coiling tighter and tighter in her core.
It was overwhelming and she wanted it to consume her, wanted this moment to last forever, wanted to live the rest of her life savoring the sight of him, so manly and attractive, his skin shimmering due to the sheen of sweat on his skin.
She wanted to remain as full as she felt, wanted to live her life consistently being referred to as ‘his darling’, ‘his pretty one’, ‘his good girl’.
His.
“Do it,” Richard urged, as she had uncovered a revelation about herself that she had fought off for so long, the desperation in his voice pushing her all the way over. “Find your release, Isobel – darling, I need to feel you–”
The tension snapped, and Isobel shattered around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashed over her in waves even more intense than any of the others that had come before.
She felt Richard thrust deep one final time, felt him pulse inside her as he found his own release, groaning her name like a prayer.
They stayed locked together for long moments, both trembling and gasping for breath. Richard's head rested on her shoulder, and she could feel his heart racing against her chest, matching the frantic beat of her own.
Finally, Richard pulled back slightly to look at her, and Isobel saw something in his eyes that made her chest ache – tenderness mixed with sorrow, pleasure edged with pain.
“Thank you,” Isobel whispered, reaching up to cup his face. “Thank you for giving me this.”
Richard turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “I should be thanking you. You have given me a gift beyond measure.”
They stayed like that for a while longer, neither wanting to break the spell, to acknowledge that the outside world still existed and would soon demand they return to it. But eventually, reality intruded, and they had to separate, had to make themselves presentable.
Isobel winced as she stood, feeling the evidence of her lost innocence, the soreness between her legs. Richard noticed and reached for her, concern in his eyes.
“Are you all right? I did not hurt you too badly, did I? Shall I carry you back?”
“I am fine,” Isobel assured him, though she knew she would be feeling this for days. “Truly.”
They helped each other dress in silence, both of them seemingly aware that with each garment replaced, they were rebuilding the walls between them. By the time they were fully clothed again, the moment had passed, and they were once more back in their formal roles.
Richard as the Duke of Dellamare and Isobel as Miss Wightman – strangers bound by duty and circumstance, nothing more.
“I should return to the ball,” Isobel said finally, unable to meet his eyes. “People will have noticed my absence.”
“Let me escort you back, at least,” Richard offered softly, but Isobel shook her head.
“It is better if we return separately. Less chance of... questions.”
Richard nodded, though she could see the reluctance in his expression. “Isobel–”
“Do not,” she interrupted gently. “Please. We agreed. One night, and then we forget. Let us not make this harder than it already is.”
“How can I forget?” Richard asked roughly. “How can I possibly forget this? Forget you?”
Isobel felt tears threaten again, but she forced them back. “You will. And so will I. We must. There is no other choice.”
She moved toward the door, needing to escape before her resolve crumbled entirely. But Richard caught her hand, pulling her back for one last kiss – gentle and bittersweet and full of everything they could not say.
“Goodbye, Isobel,” he whispered against her lips.
“Goodbye, Richard. Thank you,” she replied quietly, feeling her heart shatter as she put some distance between them.
And then she walked out into the night, leaving the pieces behind in that small gardener's cottage.
As she made her way back to the manor, Isobel touched her lips, still swollen from Richard's kisses, and allowed herself one moment of grief for what could never be. Then she straightened her shoulders, composed her expression, and prepared to return to being Valerie Wightman.
One more day. Just one more day, and this nightmare would be over.
She only had to survive until then.
Richard stood alone in the darkness after she had left, his hand pressed against his chest as though he could physically hold his breaking heart together. He had given Isobel what she asked for – one night, one perfect night to carry with them into their separate futures.
But now that he had held her, tasted her, felt her come undone in his arms – how was he supposed to let her go?
The truth crashed over him with devastating clarity: he was in love with Isobel Lennox. Completely, irrevocably, hopelessly in love.
And it did not matter that she was unsuitable, that she defied every expectation of what a duchess should be. It did not matter where she was raised or what she sounded like. It did not matter that she likely did not know the first thing about the intricate rules governing his world.
None of it mattered, because she was everything he had never known he needed. She was brave and fierce and honest in a world of carefully crafted lies. She made him laugh, made him think, made him want to be better than the cold, duty-bound man he had become.
But she did not want him. Not permanently. She had been clear about that – one night, and then she would return to Scotland and enter the convent. She would spend the rest of her life in service to God, and he...
He would marry someone appropriate. Someone proper. Someone who would make a suitable duchess and give him heirs and never, ever make his heart race the way Isobel did.
The thought made him physically ill.
Richard sank onto the workbench where, just moments ago, he had made love to Isobel for the first and last time. The wood still held her warmth, and he pressed his palm against it, desperately trying to hold onto some piece of her.
He loved her. God help him, he loved her.
And he had no idea what to do about it.