She twisted away. 'Tell me first.'
He forced her back, his hands hard on her hips. Drawing in a frustrated breath, he met her heated gaze. 'None. Your turn.'
She smiled, blissfully content because now she knew his time with Helene had been platonic. 'None,' she cheerfully declared.
The word echoed in his ears like angel song, when it shouldn't matter, when he'd always thought women deserved their freedoms. But for some reason, he didn't want her to be free-in that sense, and as he leaned closer and adjusted himself between her thighs, he softly murmured, 'Then this is just for me…'
'Yours alone, my lord,' she whispered, wrapping her legs around his waist. 'I'll expect a suitable reward for my celibacy.'
He chuckled, oddly pleased, his moodiness gone. 'Instead of a dozen times, why not a score?'
'That must be why I prefer you best.'
'And I you,' he whispered.
They both lost count in the heated bliss of consummation, although Dermott never so forgot himself as to climax inside Isabella. It was pure torture to curtail his impulses, and at those times when she was begging him to come in her, it was very nearly impossible.
But were he killed in the morning, he didn't want to leave her with a fatherless child.
While she desperately wanted his child for that reason and a thousand more.
In that contest of wills, however, the earl prevailed.
And when the stars began to fade, he gently kissed her as they lay by the fire.
'You have to go,' she whispered.
He nodded. 'I have to.'
'You won't change your mind?'
'This isn't something you renege on.'
'I hate you for doing this,' she sadly said.
He gently touched her cheek. 'I'm sorry.'
'I'm not worth your life.'
He placed his finger on her mouth. 'Hush.'
'Come back to me.'
He was so quiet, she frantically wished she could snatch back her words.
'I can't give you what you deserve.' His distress was plain.
'I didn't mean…' Her eyes rilled with tears because she did mean it, and she might lose him to Lonsdale's marksmanship and if not, she'd lose him anyway. Sadness filled her so completely, she felt as though she were choking on her tears.
'I wish I could.' He brushed a kiss on her temple, but she could feel the constraint in his body.
'Be careful this morning,' she murmured, kissing him lightly on the cheek, moving from his embrace and sitting up, separating herself before she burst into tears.
A man like Dermott must have suffered countless weeping women in his life; she didn't wish to become another commonplace statistic. 'Let me know that you're safe-once it's over,' she said, forcing a calmness to her tone, reaching for her chemise. 'Send Molly a note.' She wished to be adult about this, not clinging or demanding, not asking for more than he could give. She'd understood from the very beginning that there would be an end to their relationship. Tonight had been a brief reprieve-no more.
He'd made that clear.
'I'll see that Molly knows,' he said, rising to his feet, the perfection of his tall form gilded by firelight.
Would she ever see him again? Would she ever feel his kiss or taste his smile? His hair was tousled from their lovemaking, and she ached to smooth it with her fingers.
He smiled. 'Thank you for coming here tonight.' As though she'd favored him. 'You've brought me luck.'
'I give you all my luck. I wish I could give you the world's good fortune.' Give you the sun and moon and everything, she wistfully thought. 'I probably shouldn't have kept you up all night,' she said, instead, in a conversational tone that made no demands.
'I wasn't planning on sleeping.'
Of course, he wouldn't. And if she'd not come to Green Abbey, some other woman would have taken her place. Her expression must have mirrored her sudden thoughts, because he said, 'I was drinking with friends. That's all.'
A concession, a kindness, maybe even the truth, she hoped, so in love, she wasn't capable of feeling anything but the pain of his leaving.
He'd begun dressing as well, gauging the time against the distance he still had to travel to reach Morgan's field. 'I'll be sure to send Molly a note.'
'Thank you.' She forced herself to think of Molly, of the coming afternoon, when this would all be over. When Dermott would be safe and the trivialities of the world could go on once again.
'Do you need help with your gown?'
It was a politesse. He'd always before just helped her. 'No, I'm fine,' she said, when her heart was breaking.
They dressed in an awkward silence when only moments earlier they were bound by an intimacy so intense, the beauty of it still lingered in their senses.
But Dermott had gone through leave-takings often enough; he didn't expect the feeling-however unprecedented-to last. And he carried the weight of the conversation until they were dressed.
'You're very wrinkled.' Isabella smiled faintly, his rumpled look so out of character. 'Your valet would be mortified.'
'Lonsdale won't mind.'
All her fears returned in a rush. 'Promise you'll not be reckless.'
'Caution is my byword,' he teased.
'Don't tease,' she protested, 'when you're risking your life, when Lonsdale doesn't deserve a chance to hurt you.'
'I don't plan on giving him one.' Dermott held out his hand. 'I'll take every precaution,' he promised. 'Now, I've some way to go myself. Let me escort you to your carriage.'
Joe was waiting in the corridor outside, his face impassive as they emerged from the room. And he kept a polite distance as he followed them downstairs to the carriage.
'Take care now,' Dermott softly said as they stood on the flags outside in the mist of predawn, the carriage door held open by a groom.
'I insist even more that you do.'
'I will.' Leaning forward, he lightly kissed her mouth and then, straightening, stepped away. 'Good-bye.' His voice was low.
'Godspeed,' she whispered, and then turned and entered the carriage before her tears spilled over.
Chapter Eighteen
DERMOTT STOPPED by Bathurst House to collect Shelby, his valet, Charles, and his dueling pistols. There wasn't time to change. He'd stayed with Isabella much longer than he should have. After a few brief orders for Pomeroy, he discussed his time constraints with his driver and then rested on the steps of Bathurst House until Charles and Shelby appeared. Quickly rising, he exchanged greetings with his servants before they entered the carriage.
'The doctor will meet us at Morgan's field,' Shelby noted as the closed carriage raced through the predawn streets of London. [8] 'Lord Devon left ahead of us. He stopped by Bathurst House, but since you weren't there at the appointed time, he thought you may have already gone to Morgan's field. Of course, I knew better. I knew you'd see to your pistols yourself, but one doesn't argue with Lord Devon.'
