smile. There was something seriously amiss and he believed he finally understood.
Mary received a large, flat, velvet box that had just been delivered to the bedchamber by the duke’s man. “There’s a note here, my lady. Shall I put it on the desk?”
Isobel had been fidgeting with her easel and looked across. “No, let me see what he’s sent. It’s after eleven o’clock— how could Rochester know I was still awake?” Her abigail brought the items over. Isobel broke the seal on the paper and the bold black handwriting leapt out at her. The box contained something that had to be worn at the wedding ceremony.
She opened the lid and gazed in awe at the fabulous circlet. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. This must be an ancient heirloom. See, Mary, how the golden leaves have been constructed and the centres of the flowers are topaz, or perhaps amber.”
“If you’re to wear that tomorrow, my lady, you’ll have to have your hair loose for it won’t fit over an elaborate arrangement.”
Isobel shrugged. “You can braid the front and leave the back hanging free. I wondered why the duke had insisted my gown should be gold. I shall feel like a wood nymph with my floating draperies and this exquisite object on my head.”
She replaced the jewel in the box and returned to her task. She heard Mary sigh behind her. She was being unfair keeping her maid so late. “I shall retire now. I can’t make this wretched thing stand straight. I doubt I shall have much time to paint in the immediate future so it can wait.”
No sooner had her abigail departed than Isobel threw back the covers and got out of bed. She would not be able to sleep so might as well find a novel to read and sit in front of the fire until she was too tired to keep her eyes open. Being in a huge bed turned her thoughts to what she would have to endure in either this bed, or the one next door, in a few short hours.
She left one candle burning on the mantelshelf and curled up in a comfortable chair, tucking her feet beneath her nightgown and bed robe. She attempted to immerse herself in her gothic romance. She was almost asleep, the candle burnt out, the only light from the fire, when the communicating door between her room and his began to move.
Her eyes flew open. She shrunk back against the seat
“Stay where you are, little one, I shall put this down and fetch the rest.” He placed the tray on the carpet in front of the fire and quickly lit two candlesticks. With no more than a friendly smile he vanished back from whence he came.
How extraordinary! The sight of all the food made her mouth water. She had not eaten for more than twenty four hours and her stomach gurgled. Surely there could not be more food coming? There was enough on that one tray to feed a dozen people.
He reappeared with a second tray with a silver jug and two silver goblets, plus a second jug of lemonade. “I thought we could share a loving cup, sweetheart, but not until you have eaten. Mulled wine on an empty stomach would make you feel decidedly unwell.”
“I love mulled wine; we always have it at Christmas.” Forgetting she was in her nightwear, not even slippers on her feet, she knelt down and pushed the poker into the centre of the blaze. “This will soon heat up. I should like some lemonade to be going on with. Shall I help myself to food?”
He waved her back to her chair, his expression tender. “This is my surprise; allow me to be your servant tonight.”
She devoured a substantial portion of the laden tray before she was replete. “I feel so much better. I’m relieved that you joined me in this midnight feast. Can I have some wine now?”
His chuckle made her feel even more relaxed. He was different, his austerity and coldness gone. In the intimacy of her bedchamber he had become the man she’d dreamed about. The sweet smell of spices filled the room as he plunged the poker into the jug. He filled both goblets then handed one to her, raising the other in salute.
“To us, my love. May the rest of our lives be spent in happiness and harmony.”
“To us.” She swallowed and the delicious concoction filled her with warmth and a strange excitement. That odd darkness she’d observed before was apparent in his eyes. Hastily she broke the connection and drank some more mulled wine, and then the vessel was pried from her fingers.
“Enough, Isobel, you’re not used to alcohol. Come and sit with me, there are matters I need to discuss with you.”
Not waiting for her to move he scooped her up and, before she could protest she was resting in his lap. It was pleasant to be held— she had not felt the protection of another’s arms since the nursery. She closed her eyes and didn’t flinch when his arms encircled her.
“Would you do something for me?”
Sleepily she gazed up at him; his smile made something most peculiar curl through her nether regions. “What is it you want, my lord?”
“Firstly, when we are alone, I wish you to use my given name— Alexander. I shall call you Isobel.” This did not seem unreasonable. She nodded and closed her eyes again. “Secondly, sweetheart, allow me to release your hair. Ever since I saw you waiting in the line at your ball I’ve dreamt of running my fingers through it. I insist you must never have it cut short whatever the prevailing fashions might dictate.”
She was too fatigued to protest. She raised her head allowing him access to her braid; if he wished to see it loose then he must release it himself. His fingers were deft. Seconds later she was enveloped in her hair. He gently propelled her forwards and began to draw his fingers through her locks from temples to neck.
Why should such a simple thing be sending shockwaves up and down her spine? An unusual restlessness was building in the very core of her being. Something made her wish to twist in his arms so she could see his face. When she did so she felt the- familiar hardness pressing against her bottom. Instantly her fear returned and she tried to scramble from his lap.
“Darling girl, you must not be scared of me. Whatever you have been told about what takes place between a man and a woman has obviously frightened you. I promise you I would never hurt you. It’s my duty to protect and care for you for the rest of your life.”
His words were soothing— his hands were stroking her, easing out the tension and the fear. She couldn’t tell him why she was afraid, but he would not lie to her His fingers buried themselves in the hair and tilted her head. His lips brushed hers sending spirals of pleasure around her overheated limbs.
“Trust me, darling, let me show you what it is to be loved. There’s nothing to fear. What we’re doing is a natural thing; a man and a woman are meant to be conjoined in this way.”
Her arms encircled his neck. She wished to have his lips pressing on hers, for his hands to continue to work their power, stroking and caressing her shoulders and neck. His mouth engulfed hers. His tongue demanded entry and her lips parted to let him in. She was lost in a place she hadn’t known existed, her body no longer her own.
When he stood and moved smoothly towards the bed, she made no protest. Gently he slid her down his chest until her bare feet were on the carpet. “I can’t make love to you until you’re free of these unnecessary items.”
She was mesmerized— could not have moved even if the house had caught fire. The ribbons at the neck of her garments were untied. He pushed the cotton over her shoulders and she was naked before him. Every inch of her was burning. Her breasts tingled and she wanted something from him but was not sure what this was.
Her legs gave way and she fell backwards onto the sheets. With one swift movement he tore off his bed-robe and stood before her as naked as she. Her eyes widened. She had not expected this. Before she could prevent it her glance dropped to his stomach— what she saw doused her flames as effectively as a bucket of cold water. Her fears returned and she rolled away attempting to hide herself in the covers.
She cringed from him but he gathered her close and kissed her softly. His hand moved from her face, down to her breast and the heat inside her returned. His lips trailed fire from her neck to her stomach. His tongue circled her nipple sending spirals of pleasure pulsing around her. As his mouth turned to give the same attention to her other breast his fingers traced the outline of her stomach and slid between her thighs.
She gasped in shock as they entered her most private place and began a magical dance that left her writhing in pleasure. She pressed against his hand wanting more, something else— she was burning up and only he could
