When the Duke Returns(91)
“That sounds lovely,” Isidore said, despite herself.
“I’ve never met a woman more intelligent. We argued for hours. She managed to change my mind about several ideas.”
Clearly, to Simeon, changing his mind was practically an unheard-of experience. Isidore sighed and changed the subject. “I am curved in all the places where you are straight,” she said, caressing the line of Simeon’s hip. Their arms brushed for a moment as he reached out to touch her as well.
“I can’t stop touching you,” he said. “I can’t stop thinking of you. The idea of returning to Revels House is inconceivable.”
Isidore laughed and rolled on her back. “Now that the odor is gone I feel much more inclined to consider the possibility. But meanwhile…”
He accepted her invitation, of course.
It was an hour later. The sheets were rumpled, and Isidore was sweaty in places she’d never considered before, like the backs of her knees. If she lay absolutely still, she could feel tiny quivers in the sweetest parts of her body. She felt like the air did after her aunt put down her violin, as if it were still singing, but in silence.
“Do you suppose it’s like this for everyone?” she asked.
“The poets sing of it,” Simeon said lazily. He was lying on his back, one hand over his head, the other on her hip. “There’s an ancient Sufi poet named Rumi…he spoke of desire as a sickness bringing joy.”
“But this pleasure,” Isidore said. “If it always feels this pleasurable, why don’t people do it all the time?”
Simeon stretched. “I think we waited so long that we were like volcanoes waiting to explode. I know that sometimes bedding can be very, very unpleasant,” Simeon said, turning over to face her. “We’re lucky, you and I. Sometimes people just don’t fit, as I understand it. There can be discomfort. Or one person might not find the other attractive.” His sleepy smile said that wasn’t a problem for him.
It wasn’t a problem for Isidore either. Sometimes it felt as if her heart opened up when they made love. Love…
“But do you think it feels like this if the people aren’t married?” she asked, unable to bring the word love to her lips. Did she love him?
He laughed at that and she wrinkled her nose at him. “You are asking whether a wedding certificate increases pleasure?”
“Stupid of me,” she said.
Yet she felt somewhere deep inside her that he was missing the point. Though she wasn’t sure what the point was.
“We do need to talk seriously, Isidore,” he said.
“Hmmm?”
“We have to have a plan.”
“A plan?”
“A plan for our marriage. Neither of us is precisely what the other envisioned as a spouse. We’ll simply have to try to change. As much as we can. That way we won’t find ourselves at odds. So if I hadn’t been me, if you were able to pick any man in the ton, what kind of person would you like him to be?”
She giggled. “Red-haired?”
“Seriously.”
“Must we be serious?” she moaned. “It’s far into the middle of the night. I’m tired.”
“We can sleep late in the morning. No one will dare wake us. It’s important, Isidore.”
She tried to pull herself together. “Seriously? What sort of man would I have chosen?”
“I suppose the more proper question is how would he have differed from me?”
She hesitated.
“Isidore,” he said patiently. “I’m not a fool. I’m the man you’ve got and I just made you very happy. I’m not going to feel insulted if you wish I wore a cravat more frequently.”
“Well, now that you mention it…”
“But not a wig,” he said, alarmed. “I’m not sure I could tolerate a wig.”
“How about a little powder for important occasions?”
“Such as going to Court?”
“More than going to Court. Balls in London. Places where your head would be the only unpowdered one in the crowd.”
“Just not a wig. I cannot wear those little rolls of snails over my ears. But I can powder. What else, Isidore?”
“Could you look a bit more respectable?” She grinned at him. “You are mine, which means that not all the ladies get to enjoy the image of you naked.”
“I like that,” he said with a slow smile.
“I’d rather they didn’t have quite such a chance to see your legs in those short trousers of yours.”
He looked alarmed. “I can’t stop running, Isidore. It’s part of who I am.”
“Perhaps in longer trousers?”