Sunrise with a Notorious Lord Read online

  His cock should have shriveled at the mere thought of claiming Isabel’s maidenhead, but it hung between his legs like a heavy club. The damn thing throbbed, and touching her was only heightening his agony. As his fingers became drenched with her arousal, the scent of her desire was making his head spin.

  Outdoors the wind was keening and shaking the windowpanes as the rain battered the old town house. The wild, stormy night had seeped into his blood, and it called to him. It called to Isabel as well. Her head came off the mattress and she cried out. Ruthlessly he drove his fingers into her wet sheath over and over, wringing out of her body her first pleasurable release while he struggled for control over his own unruly body.

  He hooted with laughter at her wondrously bemused expression, and leaned forward to give her a rough kiss on the mouth.

  “A woman’s pleasure is a potent aphrodisiac,” he said, bringing his damp fingers to his lips and licked them. “If this is a potent spell, my Circe, then I do not wish to recover my senses.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The man had robbed her of all reason. And voice, Isabel thought as she struggled to catch her breath. With her back pressing into the mattress, she felt too weak to lift her limbs even if her life depended on it. So she did not protest when Vane rose up and positioned himself between her parted thighs. His handsome face hovered inches from her. He looked very pleased with her current condition—as well he might, considering he was responsible.

  She should have been mortified that he had managed to make her shriek with pleasure simply by using his hands. But she could not work up any genuine outrage about it. All she could do was gaze up at him and silently wonder if he planned to gloat about his victory.

  The realization that she could feel such bliss had been a secret her body had even kept from her.

  “You win,” she rasped, willing to bow to his expertise.

  “Not yet.” Vane lowered his head and kissed her. His tongue glided against hers, and she sighed against his lips. He shifted, allowing her to feel the weight of his manhood against her womanly folds. “I pride myself on being a thorough lover.”

  Was he testing her resolve? Or his? Did he truly have the strength to leave her with her innocence intact when his body was demanding that he complete the seduction?

  Her body, still warm from the fire Vane had created within her, welcomed him. A graceful wiggle of his hips, and Isabel was wholly aware of his rigid staff as it pushed against the soft, damp flesh between her legs. His thrusts were shallow, a gentle albeit persistent exploration to see if her body could accommodate his claim.

  Isabel flinched, feeling impossibly stretched. “I think you have reached your limits. We do not seem to good fit,” she said, feeling as if she had failed him.

  “Patience, love.” Vane murmured wordless soothing sounds as her face crumpled and she struggled not to cry. His hands seem to be caressing her everywhere: her hair, her breasts, down the side of her waist, over her thighs. The touch was reverent and arousing, and she arched against it, allowing his manhood to slip deeper.

  The ache he was creating within her was torturous. Apparently Vane felt the same way. Groaning, he tore his mouth from hers and slid his hands down her back until he cupped her buttocks. After a slight retreat, he thrust his manhood wholly into her sheath.

  Isabel did not expect the sharp pain, but it faded when Vane stilled. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

  “Only this first time, I’m told,” he said apologetically, giving her time to accept his full measure, the weight of his body against her pelvis driving him deeper still. “Can you bear it?”

  She nodded.

  The tension in his face eased. “Brave, sweet lady. You humble me.”

  Before she could question him further, Vane began to slowly withdraw his manhood, which eased her discomfort until he surged forward again. His expression tightened as he moved his hips. Advance and retreat, her sheath bathing his rigid flesh with the honeyed moisture of her body until they moved together with a fluidness that left both of them breathless.

  One of his hands found its way back up to her face. His fingers encircled the nape of her neck in a possessive fashion. Vane sealed his mouth over hers and his tongue licked and thrust, allowing the memory of her initial discomfort to fade from her mind.

  All Isabel could think about was Vane. She suckled his tongue and her fingers tried to grasp his thrusting hips. Sweat coated his body as his tempo quickened. Pounding into the very heart of her, the broad head of his manhood created a new kind of ache within her. She wiggled her hips experimentally, and Vane’s response was enthusiastic.

  Any sense of control seemed to abandon him. As her nipples scraped against the coarse hairs of his chest, Isabel felt her womb flutter and then clench with some yet-to-be-discovered anticipation. Vane seemed to sense it, too. His eyes shut, he groped blindly for her, his heavy, hard-muscled body melding into hers.

  A white bright light akin to lightning filled her vision. Isabel thrashed her head from side to side as her womb pulsed, sending wave after wave of pleasure rippling through her body and into Vane.

  His body bucked and his left fist slammed into the pillow above her head. Isabel felt his breath, warm against her cheek as his hips frantically pumped against her and then stilled. Her sheath clenched around Vane’s manhood as he shuddered and the buried flesh pulsed. His hot seed filled her and a tranquility she had never experienced settled over her as she tenderly held the man who had become her lover in her arms.

  * * *

  Vane became slowly aware that his cheek was pressed against Isabel’s breast. As the lust faded from his loins, he realized that she was valiantly bearing the burden of his body. “I am crushing you.”

  “Not at all,” she murmured sleepily. “You are rather nice to cuddle with.”

  He snorted in disbelief, and reached for the sheet that had been kicked to the end of his bed. Pulling it over them, he settled down on his side. Isabel sighed and moved closer, wiggling her sweet buttocks against his turgid cock, still damp with her arousal. Vane tucked the sheet around her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

  His cock thumped against her. The damn thing should have been sated. All he could think about was how long he had to wait before Isabel would allow him to touch her again.

  What if I’ve frightened her with my lust? he thought, his mind vehemently rejecting such a notion. What if she does not want me touching her again?

  “I could bring you some brandy?” he blurted. “To calm you. Ease your aches.”

  Her neck stiffened at the concern she heard in his voice. “I do not require brandy. Though…” She slowly rubbed her leg against his as she took a silent inventory of her body. “I do have a few aches. What about you? Do you need some brandy?”

  If he had been alone, he would have poured himself a glass. It was not every day that a virgin could teach him a thing or two about lovemaking. “Not if it requires me leaving the bed. Will you stay the night?”

  Vane could not decide who was more startled by the question, Isabel or him. He seemed to be breaking all of his personal rules this evening. First, he brought a lady to his private residence. Second, his rule about deflowering virgins was abandoned, though technically Isabel no longer qualified as one; and third, and most telling, he wanted her to stay with him. The notion of waking up and finding her curled against him held a certain appeal. He absently wondered if she snored.

  Isabel stirred and made an attempt to rise. He touched her shoulder and nudged her to settle back against him. “I cannot. Delia would worry if I did not return home.”

  Vane did not argue with her.

  “If I remained, your staff would know. Not to mention your sister. Do you want her telling your mother that you seduced me?”

  Vane winced. “Christ, no!” If his mother learned that he had bedded Isabel, she might spread the news herself if she thought it would get her only son leg-shackled.

  Isabel sat up, her hand clasping the sheet t
o her breasts. “Well, you do not have to worry about Lord Botly. He is not likely to work up any righteous anger over a granddaughter he does not acknowledge.” She would have left the bed if he had not captured her wrist to prevent her from fleeing.

  Belatedly he realized that his enthusiastic denial had hurt her feelings. As if he could sooth away the insult, he rubbed her back. “I spoke thoughtlessly.”

  She shook her head, brushing aside his apology. “What we’ve done—I would not want anyone to use it against you. This was my choice and I do not regret it. You did not lure me into bed with flattery and false promises. If you ever decide to marry, it will not be someone like me.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to demand an explanation from Isabel. What the devil is wrong with marrying you? he wondered, and then saw the delicate trap he had created for himself. Or had that been her intention all along?

  “I have been thinking.”

  Warily, his brows lifted as his finger explored the small dent at the base of her spine. “A dangerous occupation to be certain.”

  Isabel wrinkled her nose. “Well, it concerns our wager.”

  Intrigued, he said, “You are referring to the wager that you lost? You are not crying off?”

  “Now you are being insulting.”

  She turned and smiled at him. The impact of it made his head swim. Any suspicion that she might be playing games with him vanished. Isabel did not have a deceitful bone in her body.

  “No, I was pondering the terms. For winning, I am to allow you to win again.” She looked awfully delectable sitting on his bed with a sheet wrapped primly around her body. “I have not had the opportunity to study the practical applications of the male body—”

  Vane let out a throaty chuckle at her lecturing tone. “So you have a question?”

  Isabel beamed at him. “Precisely! I would like to know when you will be capable of winning … again.”

  She shrieked with laughter as Vane dragged her down until she was under him and proceeded to prove that he was a man of his word. A Lord of Vice considered all wagers a serious affair.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “You disappeared early? Where did you go?”

  Isabel’s hand shook slightly as she raised the teacup to her lips. Her gaze had not strayed from the book of poetry since she had sat down with Delia in the tiny morning room. She made a soft inquiring noise to buy herself a little time.

  After all, what was she to confess to Delia?

  Forgive me, sister. While you supped at Lord and Lady Fiddick’s, I was in a compromising position with the very man Lady Netherley hopes you will marry. Worse still, I enjoyed it! Well, most of it anyway, she silently amended.

  She grimaced as she swallowed the tepid tea. “My apologies for abandoning you, Delia,” she said, lowering her teacup into its saucer. “My departure was sudden and unexpected. I would have preferred speaking with you directly, but with so many masked guests filling every crevice of the Fiddicks’ residence, it was impossible to find anyone last evening.” Isabel gave her sister an apologetic smile. “The footman did convey my regrets, did he not?”

  “Yes, I received your message,” Delia said crossly. “However, it is unlike you to simply vanish without any explanation.”

  Her actions had been highly emotional and uncharacteristically selfish. Even if Isabel was willing to confess the truth, she doubted her sister would believe her outlandish tale.

  So Isabel lied.

  “I suffered from a nasty bout of dizziness before a megrim struck without warning,” she confessed, mentally grasping for a plausible reason for her odd behavior. As excuses went, it was an atrocious one—Isabel rarely suffered from illness.

  “Oh, you poor dear!” Delia leaned over and placed her palm on Isabel’s forehead. “You do feel a bit feverish. Perhaps you should go back to bed.”

  The suggestion sounded so heavenly, Isabel almost whimpered. She grimaced and shook her head. “No, I have too many tasks that I need to address.” With a sigh, she closed her book of poetry. “Later I plan to visit the shoemaker at Great Surry Street. I ruined my evening slippers, and I warrant you could use a new pair, too.”

  Delia pushed her food around on her plate. “I thought you left Lord and Lady Fiddick’s ball before the rain?”

  Blast it all! Leave it to her sister to pick up on her small slip. “I was caught in the middle of the storm,” Isabel smoothly replied. “When I stepped down from the coach, I unintentionally stepped into the mud. It was most unfortunate since the slippers were my favorite.”

  “A pity,” Delia agreed. “I fear you will have to run your errands alone. I was invited to Lady Harper’s literary salon by Miss Tyne and her friend.” She paused for a moment. “Oh, the lady’s name escapes me. Perhaps you should put off your tasks for another day and join me. While I enjoy reading, I do not feel the need to unstitch each sentence to find hidden meanings as so many people do. What say you?”

  “A tempting offer.” Isabel tried to recall Miss Tyne. “Is she the petite blonde who recently became betrothed?”

  “Yes.” Her sister gestured with her fork. “Oh, you remember, the marchioness introduced us to her. She is one of Lady Pashley’s dearest friends.”

  “Lady Pashley … Regan.” Family ties and connections shifted like puzzle pieces in Isabel’s head. Regan had married last season, and was the sister of Lord Chillingsworth. Frost, the ladies called him, and one of the more notorious members of Nox. “Good grief.” He was likely one of Vane’s closest friends.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Isabel said crisply. “I just recalled something else I must do. I will have to decline your invitation.”

  “It is just as well.” Delia picked up her cup of hot chocolate. “I daresay it will be a dull afternoon.”

  “Really, Delia. Show some respect,” she scolded. “Lady Netherley has gone to great lengths to introduce us to many members of the ton. That cannot be said for our own flesh and blood.”

  Her sister scowled. “You speak of our illustrious grandfather. Were you aware that he attended the Fiddicks’ masquerade last evening?”

  Isabel froze. “Did he approach you?”

  “That old judgmental prude? Ha!” Delia set her cup down with a sharp clink. “That man would drink a pot of rancid vinegar before he’d hold his nose and speak to the likes of us.”

  Before last evening, Isabel would have agreed. She could not fathom why the elderly viscount had approached her. Nor was she certain that she should mention the encounter to her sister.

  Mrs. Allen entered the room. “Miss Thorne … Miss Delia, there is a persistent gentleman caller in the front hall. I have already told him that it is too early for visitors, however, he claims to be a good friend.”

  It was clear what the housekeeper thought of such a claim.

  Without the luxury of a footman to assist her, Isabel pushed back her chair. “Did this gentleman give you his name?”

  “Mr. Ruddel.”

  Delia also stood, her demeanor brightening at the gentleman’s name. “Malcolm is here in London? How wonderful!” She clapped her hands and bounced on her heels with excitement. “Isabel, were you aware of this?”

  Isabel’s heart had sunk. “No, I was unaware of his plans.”

  After their awkward parting, she had not expected to see Mr. Ruddel again. The shock of finding him and her sister in an ardent embrace had passed, as well as her initial hurt. What concerned her now was his presence in London. She had confessed to Vane that she was almost betrothed to Mr. Ruddel as a means to gain his trust. What if Mr. Ruddel learned of their fictitious betrothal?

  And what of Vane? Last evening, he had not seemed particularly concerned about her absent future husband. In fact, Isabel had forgotten all about the man. Good grief! She could not even contemplate what Vane thought of her wicked behavior. On second thought, she knew firsthand that he thoroughly enjoyed himself. She covered her face with her hands and groaned.

>   “Isabel?” Delia asked, confused by her sister’s sudden distress.

  Mrs. Allen eyed both sisters. She was likely wondering if she was working for two courtesans. “What should I tell, Mr. Ruddel?”

  Dragging her hands from her face, Isabel tried to compose her rattled nerves. “Show him to the drawing room, Mrs. Allen. My sister and I will join him shortly.”

  “Humph” was all the housekeeper said before she left the morning room to deal with their unexpected visitor.

  Isabel nudged Delia toward the door. “Go wash your face and tidy your hair. Mr. Ruddel can wait.”

  Delia turned back and said, “But—”

  “Go.”

  Satisfied that her sister was too vain not to comply with her orders, Isabel dug her fists into her hips and scowled at the empty table. How was she going to convince Mr. Ruddel to leave London?

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Mr. Ruddel stood as soon as Isabel entered the drawing room. She was relieved to see that her sister was still upstairs. It would give her a chance to talk to the gentleman in private.

  “Isabel, town life suits you,” he said, giving her an appraising look. “It has put color in your cheeks.”

  If there was color in her cheeks, she blamed her unwelcome visitor. “The heightened color is annoyance, Mr. Ruddel. How did you find us?”

  He made an expansive gesture with his hands. “It was simple enough when you have the right connections.”

  Isabel stared, patiently waiting for him to recall that she was no longer impressed with his knowledge or his connections.

  Mr. Ruddel sighed. “Mr. Fawson mentioned that he had paid you a visit.”

  “Ah.”

  She motioned for him to sit, and then deliberately selected the chair farthest from him.

  “Fawson also said that he made a generous offer on your father’s journals.”