Page 21 of What the Lady Wants
‘Me on top, riding you.’
Of course it was. ‘That would have been wonderful too.’ He’d pictured it. He thought he’d probably pictured everything, but, of course, he couldn’t know.
‘It will be wonderful. Quite soon, I should think. Exactly how soon, of course, is up to you.’ She commenced touching herself quite casually as she looked at him, her fingers teasing her nipple. She’d done that before, he remembered. It had affected him deeply then, and it did so again now, all the more since she was magnificently naked. And he was.
He swallowed. ‘I had hoped I need not leave you quite yet. These autumn nights are so long.’
‘You made certain assumptions, wicked Bear.’
‘I wouldn’t call it that. I was in the navy; I like to be prepared for every eventuality.’
‘“England expects that every man will do his duty,”’ she quoted idly. And then, ‘Oh! Is that in poor taste? If so, I’m sorry.’
He was laughing. ‘I think if we know anything at all about Admiral Lord Nelson – I did meet him once briefly when I was just a lad, though of course I never had the opportunity to speak to him – it’s that he would very thoroughly have approved of a beautiful woman sitting naked in a bed, touching herself in a highly provocative manner and ordering a sailor to do his duty. His only comment, I imagine,’ he said, putting his hand high up on her thigh and caressing it, ‘would have been that an officer and a gentleman shouldn’t need to be told. I expect he’d considerthata gross dereliction of duty.’
‘Well,’ she said, her own hand slipping down her body, to the damp curls between her thighs. ‘I don’t suppose you will need to be told twice. And in that spirit, before we come to eight (b), you remember number seven, for which you had a natural aptitude?’
‘Of course I do. I don’t think it’s the sort of thing I could ever forget.’ He was lying down so that he could kiss her inner thighs now, more slowly than he had last time, and her fingers were still buried between her legs. In a moment, he would nudge them gently aside with his nose. In a moment. Or perhaps he’d kiss them, while she continued. Lick them. That sounded messy but interesting.
‘Is this on the list, you touching yourself?’ he said against her skin, and then his tongue crept out to explore her fingers as she slid them back and forward across her nub. His eyes were closed, and so as he licked greedily he didn’t know from second to second whether he would encounter her wickedly determined fingers, or her tender responsive flesh, or, wonderfully, both.
‘Naturally!’ she gasped. ‘Number sixteen, I think. Would you like to watch that to its conclusion? Oh Lord, I think you would. But this doesn’t count. I’m going to stop doing this in a moment, and let you take over. Since you’re so good at it, Bear.’
He was, more than ever before, hers to command.
22
Captain Winterton crept away from Isabella’s chamber in the early hours of the morning, long before the chilly autumn dawn broke. She staggered out of bed and relieved herself in her chamber pot when he had gone, but she simply didn’t have the energy to take out her list and cross off the items, eight (a) and (b), nine, and seven again. Sixteen, briefly, but she’d already said that didn’t count. She was far too tired to write to her mother, and not at all in the right frame of mind besides.
She ought to sleep, she needed to; her body, languorous and deliciously sore and sated, asked nothing better than to slip into deepest slumber. But her brain was buzzing like a bee trapped in a glass. Her thoughts were jumbled, fragmented, and she tried, incorrigible list-maker that she was, to bring some order to them. Whirling, disordered, uncontrolled thoughts frightened her. She wouldn’t have it, the new assertive Isabella wouldn’t.
She was thinking, inevitably, about Ash. About the last time she had wrapped her legs around a man’s waist and taken him into her, and moved against him in urgent union as he spent himself inside her welcoming body. It was different, of course, in all sorts of ways. And that was good, that was the point. Shedidn’t want ever to obliterate the image, the feel of her husband, of the rough, familiar, comforting texture of his military jacket against her cheek, of his murmured endearments as he held her and loved her for that last time that neither of them had known would be the last. Tears sprang to her eyes now as she remembered it, and perhaps they always would if she lived to be ninety, but perhaps – perhaps – the pain was a little less sharp. She liked to think it was. It was no longerherlast time, anyway, and that must count for something. She would make sure it did.
She had so many new memories now to sit beside the old ones. Physical sensations, extraordinary ones, but more than that. She’d mounted Leo, ridden him, taken her imperious pleasure from his more than willing body as she straddled him. It was hardly the first time she’d done such a thing; it was one of the more obvious positions for sexual congress between a short woman and a much taller man. Especially for a short woman with large, sensitive breasts and a tall man who warmly appreciated them. But the physical release she found now was inextricably linked with this new thing: with her command and Leo’s submission.
It was, she realised now, a great responsibility that she had so lightly taken on. It wasn’t about his feelings for her – he didn’t and couldn’t love her, they both knew that, and thank goodness for it – but it was no small thing, having someone who’d obey your every lightest whim. She needed to make sure that he really wanted to do everything she ordered him to do. He had so far, she was sure of that, but… She could dimly see, exhausted as she was, even as sleep tugged at the edges of her thoughts and blurred them, that two people with such a bond could let it lead them to some dark, dark places. He wanted to be commanded; he didn’t want to be hurt. Or did he? Did he want her to be cruel, physically, emotionally, and if he did, would she fulfil those wishes? Would she enjoy fulfilling them? And if she did, whatwould that say about either or both of them? It occurred to her – and it was an unsettling realisation to hit her on the edge of oblivion – that it wasn’t quite as obvious as it first appeared, who was truly in charge.
She slept at last, but her dreams were unsettling – arousing, too, which unsettled her more, though she only recalled scraps of them when she woke. Isabella was glad to take her breakfast in her chamber that morning, and glad to dawdle over dressing and coming downstairs. She wrote her duty letter to her mama, too, describing the uneventful journey, what she had seen of the Castle and its grounds, and most – but perhaps not quite all – of its current inhabitants. She did not rush over it. If by the time she had finished the gentlemen had gone riding again and she was too late to join them, on this occasion that would suit her very well.
They had. Most of the party had joined them, too, including, rather surprisingly, Mrs Winterton – but she was a countrywoman, after all, Isabella supposed, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t take exercise on horseback. She found Lady Carston alone in the morning room, looking rather pale and leafing through anEdinburgh Reviewin a desultory fashion. Isabella imagined for a moment that Lady Louisa had gone out too, but when she mentioned it, her companion laughed and said, ‘Louisa, riding! I wish I might see it. I am sure she would have you understand that shecould– not in the theoretical fashion of Lady Catherine de Bourgh if you are acquainted with that lady, but really. Her nephew tells me that she is a most accomplished rider, as indeed they all are in the family. She merely chooses not to display her skills. Louisa’s idea of healthy exercise is leaning over and reaching for the third volume of a novel. She is in bed still, reading.’
This comment naturally led to an animated discussion of the works of the lady author ofPride and Prejudice, as perhapsits utterer had intended. Isabella had been fortunate enough to read and enjoy that work, andSense and Sensibilitytoo, but had not known that there had been not one but two new volumes from her pen since. Her ignorance was not, perhaps, surprising, given all she had experienced in the last eighteen months. She was resolved to be open about her situation and told Lady Carston why exactly the omission had occurred.
That lady regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I knew I had set eyes on you before. I saw you briefly in the street in York, the day the Duke and Duchess of Northriding were married, but we were not introduced, and I had forgotten it till now.’
Isabella grimaced. ‘I did not see you. I am afraid I was in no fit state for introductions that day. I had not realised Gabriel was betrothed, even, and it came as a great shock to me to see him with his bride. Do not think I blame him – he wrote to my parents to tell them and asked them to tell me, but the letter did not reach us in time.’
‘That’s most unfortunate. No wonder you were taken aback,’ said her companion comfortably. ‘I understand that he had previously cherished a fixed intention never to wed.’
‘That’s true, but it does not excuse my behaviour. I can only say that I was ill at the time, and was overset. But the shock was a salutary one because it helped with my recovery.’
‘How so?’
‘I realised, even in the brief moments I saw them together, that Gabriel was in love with his bride, and she with him. Once I had overcome the pain that seeing him married must inevitably cause me, because of his great resemblance to my late husband, I was so glad to know that I had not been responsible for turning his life upside-down. A weight was lifted from my shoulders that day.’
‘I collect that you mean,’ said Lady Carston, ‘and forgive me if my frankness causes you discomfort, that you feared he would be obliged to marry, greatly against his own wishes, because he had no heir after your husband passed away?’
‘You put it very delicately, and I promise you it causes me no discomfort. I mean that after Ash died, and his young cousin John too, Gabriel had no heir because of my failure to provide one.’
