‘Mother Shipton seems to think we are man and wife.’
‘Oh?’
‘And there is nowhere else for me to sleep except in this room, without appearing somewhat strange,’ Sebastian said.
‘What are we to do?’ Isabel responded, trying to keep the edge of laughter from her voice.
If a night in this man’s arms loomed, she felt not one jot of guilt or embarrassment at the thought.
‘Hmm... There is always the chair,’ Sebastian observed, looking at the rickety object. ‘I could sleep on the floor if you don’t mind lending me a bolster and blanket from your bed. Don’t worry, I’m quite used to sleeping on the ground.’
Isabel looked up at him in disbelief. The answer for her was simple. She wanted him in the bed with her, Mother Shipton’s unguent notwithstanding. She wanted to curl up in his arms and whatever followed, she would welcome.
But how did one seduce a man? Lady Kendall seemed to have no difficulty with obtuse members of the opposite sex. She would know exactly what to do or say, whereas Isabel felt as ignorant as a nun.
‘Lady Somerton, you have a face like a book.’ Sebastian smiled, and she could see he had been teasing her.
‘Sebastian Alder?—’
He shook his head and laid a finger on her mouth, turning her to face him. He cradled her face in his hands, tilting her face upwards. Her knees turned to water, and she leaned in against him, the warmth of desire suffusing her body. In his eyes, she saw the answering hunger.
‘Isabel.’ Her name sighed from his lips as he bent to kiss her.
She pressed against him, opening her mouth to receive him, feeling the heat run through her as his lips brushed hers. She meshed her fingers in his hair, holding him to her. He pressed her close to him, and she realised he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
She tore at his borrowed shirt, pulling it over his head as he fumbled with the buttons on his breeches. With a growl, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
He threw her backwards onto the bed and crouched over her, looking down at her, his eyes blazing with desire.
‘Off with that appalling piece of cloth,’ he croaked, tugging the shift over her head.
‘You are more beautiful than I ever imagined,’ he whispered, but the smile faded as he touched the myriad bruises and scratches that were the legacy of the headlong flight and the coach accident.
‘Oh, Isabel,’ he said, and she caught the underlying growl of anger. ‘If I could have caught that man.’
She shook her head. ‘He’s gone, Sebastian. He can’t hurt either of us now. The bruises will fade and the tale will become a good one to tell at supper.’ She touched the bandage on his hand. ‘And you have another scar to add to your catalogue.’
Ignoring the lingering smell of the unguent, she kissed his hand, and Sebastian responded with soft, gentle butterfly kisses, on her lips, her throat, her breastbone, seeking out the soft place at the base of her throat.
‘Bas,’ she whispered.
‘Shh.’ He placed a finger on her lips. ‘No words, Isabel.’
She closed her eyes, as they came together, two broken souls who were finally learning to heal and to love.
Later,Sebastian lay beside her, one arm flung across his forehead as Isabel curled up against him, resting her head in the comfortable circle of his other arm. She dared not speak, dared not spoil the moment of exquisite closeness with another human being.
She propped herself up on her elbow and he stroked her hair as she bent her head and touched his golden flesh with her lips,tracing the line from his neck to his naval, tasting the residual saltiness. She’d nursed him when he’d been ill, and she thought she knew the hard, muscular planes of his body, but there was much more to discover.
His chest rose and fell as he sighed, his fingers stroking her neck. For a moment, she had a memory of Freddy doing something similar and stiffened. Sebastian sensed her disquiet and stopped, looking at her with a frown creasing his brow.
‘Isabel?’
She shook her head. Freddy had gone, swallowed up by the sea or halfway to Holland. He could never touch her again. This man—this dear, honourable man—was the love of her life, and she would surrender herself to him without hesitation.
She smiled at him. ‘Nothing.’
‘I meant what I said the night of the ball. I love you, Isabel. What I didn’t get a chance to do was to ask you to marry me.’
