“You are so very beautiful,” he whispered. The sleepy, sensual expression on his face made Isabella shudder. He kissed her lips sweetly and then bowed to run his tongue over her bare nipple.
Isabella felt the warm tingling between her thighs immediately. She sucked in her breath and arched her shoulders, thrusting her nipple deep into his mouth. Her hands clawed at his back, tugging ineffectively at his shirt.
Damien rose to his knees, pulled his shirt over his head and flung it across the room. Isabella giggled.
Damien flashed her a wicked grin as he reached down and peeled off her remaining garments. His hot gaze remained riveted on her naked splendor as he impatiently tore off the rest of his own clothing.
His tongue caressed her navel and she felt acutely conscious of her femininity as he kissed the inner softness of her thighs. His breath was warm against the tight curls surrounding her womanhood as his kisses lingered on her upper thighs.
“Open for me,” he urged.
The husky edge to his voice made her shiver. She spread her legs wide, then screamed with shock and embarrassment as Damien began to run his tongue up and down the most intimate part of her.
“You mustn’t,” she cried out weakly, feeling the blush spread through her entire body.
“So perfect,” Damien muttered passionately, ignoring her protests. His fingers opened the delicate folds of her body and the tip of his tongue laved the sensitive bud.
Isabella went rigid as the emotions washed over her, overwhelming her. How deeply and completely she loved him! After a few moments of mind-bending tension, Isabella reached her peak. At her cry of release, Damien lifted himself and plunged deep inside her. A moan of pure pleasure passed her lips as she arched her body to fit his, her arms stealing around his neck to cling to him.
Damien’s hips bucked back and forth in a frantic rhythm. Isabella looked up at him through narrowed eyes, and he reached down to cup her buttocks, bringing her even closer. His breathing labored as he quickened the rhythm, thrusting deeper. With each hard thrust, Isabella felt the liquid heat flowing over her as the fiery tension began to build once again.
“Let me hear you reach your pleasure, my sweet.”
She moaned throatily, unable to stop herself. The swell of sensations coursed through her, and Isabella screamed as release came swiftly, almost violently. At the same time she felt a great shudder ripple through Damien and then the cool air against her skin when he suddenly jerked away. His rigid shaft pressed tightly against her upper thigh, throbbing insistently as it spewed forth sticky, wet semen.
Damien abruptly turned from her and lay flat on his back, his eyes closed, his breath coming harshly.
“What happened?” Isabella asked.
After a few moments Damien rolled to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. Brushing her cheek softly, he said, “You will be my wife, Isabella. But I’ll not force you into this marriage by getting you with child.”
Isabella’s throat tightened with emotion. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The earl left the bed, returning with a damp cloth. He efficiently wiped Isabella’s thighs, then resumed his place beside her. Isabella immediately moved closer and Damien gathered her into his arms. Lying against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she gradually fell asleep.
Damien woke first and watched the sleeping Isabella with troubled eyes. A single candle burned low by the bedside, the flickering flame illuminating her delicate features. Her brows were knit together, and occasionally she murmured small, incoherent sounds. His chest tightened when he saw a small tear slip down the outer corner of her closed eye, wetting the hair at her temples. Damien raised his hand and wiped the glistening drop with his fingertip.
“All will be well, Isabella. You mustn’t cry, my dear. All will be well.”
The words appeared to soothe her. She stirred, then quieted, her eyes never opening, her features visibly relaxing. If only he could so easily prevent their lives from unraveling, Damien thought grimly.
Poole’s calmly uttered words had shaken Isabella, yet Damien admitted he was partly to blame for her distress. The contradictions she felt were directly related to the adversarial relationship he had with Poole. Damien sympathized with Isabella’s awkward position, and seeing her in pain brought forth a need in him to comfort her, to somehow lessen the burden this mass of contradictions caused her.
There was only one possible course of action left to take. He would find the information she needed to ease her pain. He would discover who her true father was.
Without fully considering the ramifications of his intended actions, Damien carefully slipped from the bed. Isabella’s torment would not ease until she learned the truth about her parentage. And Damien was determined to somehow uncover that truth. If Poole’s suspicions were proved correct, and he was her half brother, Damien would be faced with the unpleasant task of forming a tolerant relationship with Poole. It was a bitter, unappealing notion, but for Isabella’s sake Damien was willing to try. He owed her that much.
Damien made a final adjustment to the bedcovers before quitting the room. He strode silently across the hall into his bedchamber, noting that it was still dark outside. He lit several candles, then began removing clean clothes from his armoire and placing them on the bed.
The bedchamber door opened. Damien whirled around and beheld Jenkins in the doorway, a branch of lit candles in the valet’s hand.
“Rearranging your wardrobe at this hour of the morning, my lord?” the valet asked, looking about the room in frank curiosity.
The earl turned his back on the servant and resumed his activities. “I am packing. I need to leave at first light.”
“Packing?” Jenkins repeated. “You are planning a journey? Where?”
“To York. I am going to pay a call on Isabella’s grandfather, the Earl of Barton.”
