Chapter 8
A LUSTY AFFECTION
Afew hours later
As Isabella lounged against the iron headboard of her bed, a pillow protecting her bare back from the rails and one knee bent to act as a work surface, she made the last few stitches necessary to repair the side seam of Daniel’s waistcoat.
Knotting the thread, she carefully clipped it with the tiny scissors she had retrieved from the nightstand and then shook out the garment.
Holding it by the shoulders, she pulled it to her face and inhaled deeply, the scents of musk and citrus reminding her of the day she had entered Daniel’s office and kissed him.
If it hadn’t been for the tear in the seam, her finger would never have been caught, and she might not have discovered his ardor for her.
The owner of said waistcoat was sound asleep farther down the bed, his face pressed against a thigh, a heavy arm draped over her leg.
She had already seen to pulling the bed linens over most of his body.
Although she enjoyed studying his nakedness—he was as beautiful in body as his face was handsome—it was a distraction she couldn’t afford when she was sewing.
Twice she had pricked her thumb with the needle before realizing she simply had to cover his backside.
Although he had warned her he might take a short nap after their bout of playful lovemaking, she hadn’t expected him to be out as long as he had been.
How could a man sleep after lovemaking? Isabella’s entire body buzzed with excitement. Every nerve ending seemed especially sensitive. Warmth permeated her extremities, making it easy to sew.
Upon their return from the pub, they had stood in front of the fireplace and merely stared at each other. Their undressing of one another had begun slowly, carefully, as if they both feared tearing the other’s clothes.
Once Daniel had her gown, petticoats, and corset off of her, his questing hands had explored every inch of her, as if he were a blind man studying a statue.
She hadn’t remained inert, though, her own hands making quick work of the buttons of his top coat and waistcoat, the fastenings of his pantaloons, and the knot of his cravat.
Slowly unwrapping the length of silk from around his neck, she tittered when he attempted to rid himself of his shirt before she had it completely removed.
Despite his protestations, she had taken great care to fold the cravat and shirt and drape them over the back of a chair.
By the time she was back in his hold, wearing only her shift and stockings, he had stripped his pantaloons and stockings from his body. His manhood, fully erect, jutted from its nest of curls and bobbed about in anticipation of what was about to happen.
Curiosity had her gingerly touching it, first with a forefinger.
When he guided her hand to wrap it around the velvety soft skin, she delighted in how it throbbed in her hold, how he inhaled sharply when she used the fingers of her other hand to explore his ball sac, lifting it until he abruptly growled and stepped back.
Meanwhile, she had been entirely unaware of how he had plucked every pin from her hair, the blonde locks cascading down in waves around her face as she played with his engorged member.
“Now you’ve done it,” he whispered hoarsely, although his grin belied the sound of warning in his voice.
For a moment, she wondered what he had done with the hairpins. Then she watched as he reached for the mantel. She heard the metallic clinking sounds as he opened his fist and they fell from his grasp.
Whatever modesty she might have possessed took its leave when next he stripped her of her shift, revealing a pair of breasts with nipples already pinched and aching to be suckled.
Apparently he understood, for once he had his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his mouth was on them, licking and nibbling while he groaned and she gasped at the frissons darting about beneath her skin.
When her fingers speared his dark hair, she scraped his scalp with her nails and giggled when his entire body shivered.
A moment later, and she was on her bed, her knees bent and spread wide as he used his fingers to coax her to a most wondrous sensation. When he replaced his fingers with the tip of his manhood, she heard his moan and watched as his face took on an expression of bliss.
How could an already handsome man appear even more so?
Apparently whatever she did next was the right thing to do, for he was suddenly filling her near to bursting, his murmured ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh my god’s’ sounding as if they were said as prayers.
A moment or two of repeated retreats and thrusting, and he suddenly stilled, raised his head, and said, “Oh, Isabella.”
Perhaps he was worshipping her, the bed a sort of altar. If so, she hoped he might do so more often than once a week.
“You have thoroughly ruined me, you rogue,” she remembered murmuring when he settled his head next to hers, the sound of her subsequent titter at odds with reality.
“It takes one to know one, you minx,” he had whispered, right before he passed out.
After setting aside the waistcoat, Isabella attempted to shift her body down the bed without disturbing Daniel. He awoke, though, his brows furrowing when he saw where she had been lying.
“How can you still be awake?” he asked, his voice thick with slumber.
“I was too excited to sleep,” she whispered. “This is the first time I’ve ever had a rogue in my bed.”
“You had best get used to it,” he murmured. “I intend to be here every night,” he added, yawning. “That is, until our bedchamber is finished in the house.” His attention went beyond her to the nightstand. “Is that my waistcoat?”
She nodded. “I repaired it,” she said, showing him where she had stitched the hole in the side seam. There was no sign it had ever been damaged.
“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing her arm. “Will you sleep with me now?” he asked, using an arm to pull her body down until she was tucked up against his. “We have a big day tomorrow,” he added, cradling her hand in his, its dandelion ring still adorning the fourth finger.
“You say that as if we’re getting married,” she teased.
“That’s my intention,” he replied. When she turned her head back to glance at him in surprise, he added, “Remember, I have clients in high places.”
“As do I,” she replied. She felt him suddenly stiffen and realized he had misunderstood her comment. “The ballgown I am making is for Lady McDonald, the judge’s wife. The Peer’s Ball is next week.”
Although Daniel felt a good deal of relief at hearing the words, he also felt pride on her behalf. “Something tells me the on-dit about us will be quite different in a day or so,” he murmured happily.
Isabella sighed contentedly. “I think we both know someone who can see to it that it does,” she whispered. She didn’t have to mention his secretary by name.