Once a Duchess(43)

 

“It’s been so long,” she whispered.

 

And then he understood. She’d felt everything he’d felt this evening, up to and including the overwhelming loneliness he’d experienced when they first came together. The realization was nearly his undoing.

 

With one smooth motion, he scooped her up into his lap. “Too long.”

 

But she was here now, and so was he. And she was so achingly familiar. Her presence awakened memories held within his very bones. His body knew her, missed her. She touched his jaw, and the muscle vibrated beneath her palm. Her other hand rested on his shoulder. His skin burned at her touch; his thin shirt did nothing to muffle the heat, yet it was an unwelcome barrier.

 

Isabelle found his ear, and drew the lobe between her lips. A jolt of sensation shot through him. He heard himself groan her name, the word ripped from the very depths of his being.

 

It wasn’t enough. He had to touch her. Needed to rediscover her.

 

Once again, her needs mirrored his own. Her lips fled back to his, and without breaking contact, she twisted to face him, drew a knee up and over, and resettled herself straddling his lap. His hands found her waist, and squeezed.

 

She rose up on her knees and arched against him. Marshall found himself in the erotic position of looking up into Isabelle’s face. She controlled their kiss now. Her tongue set a throbbing pace.

 

She did that thing with his lip that only Isabelle had ever discovered to make him wild. His erection strained against his trousers, aching to join with her. Abruptly, her mouth was gone. She made a needy little whimper and guided his head downward. Isabelle arched her back, brazenly brushing her breasts against his lips.

 

Marshall chuckled low in his throat. Ah, but she had always been a sweet one. He happily obliged her unspoken request, and turned his attention there. His hands slid up to cup the firm mounds. She exhaled in relief against the top of his head.

 

Her dress was already a ruin, so he did not feel badly tugging the neckline and exposing her to his view. Through her thin chemise, he saw the darker circles of her nipples.

 

He dropped his head and pressed a kiss onto the top of one soft swell, and then the other. Meanwhile, he captured both nipples between his thumbs and middle fingers, and slowly began to roll the sensitive flesh from side to side. The nubs rose to erect points. He lightly grazed his teeth over one and suckled it through the gauzy fabric.

 

She gasped and thrust her pelvis against his middle. It was becoming more than Marshall could stand, more than any functioning male could stand. His hands found the hem of her dress hitched around her knees. He slipped his hands beneath and grasped her silk-clad thighs. Impatient, he quickly moved upward and squeezed the firm globes of her derrière. She responded with a delightful whimper. He pulled her down, bringing her into full contact with his arousal.

 

Rather than shy away, Isabelle rocked her hips over him. His body jumped, hardened further by the intimate contact. “Isabelle,” he released her to unfasten his trousers, “I need — ”

 

At the same moment, she said, “Marshall, we have to stop.”

 

It was several seconds before her meaning sunk in. He only fully understood when she pulled her face away from his entirely.

 

He swallowed hard, willing his thundering pulse to slow. “Oh,” he said lamely.

 

She shifted off him, stood with her back turned, and rearranged her clothing. The stoop of her shoulders, the way she hid from him as though she was ashamed, pricked his conscience.

 

He quickly set himself to rights and rose. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she jerked.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I behaved abominably — ”

 

“Don’t.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Please don’t, Marshall.” She gave her dress a final tug and turned back to face him again. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to.”

 

Wrapping her arms across her middle, she turned her gaze to the nearby fountain. “It would have been improvident to go further. I’m tired, and the wine went to my head, and that is all years behind us.” Her voice sounded wistful.

 

He reached out and took her hand. It trembled in his grasp.

 

Well done, he scolded himself. Isabelle had spent the entire day on her feet, working in the stifling hot kitchen. The poor woman was exhausted and probably ached all over, and he’d not only kept her away from bed, but also treated her most despicably, despite her denial.

 

“You’re right, of course,” he said. “Come now.” He tucked her hand in his arm and escorted her through the maze and back to the house. He bade her goodnight, and ordered baths be taken to both her bedchamber and his.