And seeing him unravel broke her heart. That mattered to Matthew. It mattered more than whatever anger he had that she would keep the truth from him.
He retook his seat and gathered her against him, holding her gently as he smoothed his hands along her trembling back and let her pour her pain into him. He took it all, holding her safe as she wept, and found himself comforted by the exchange. Her pain was easier to bear than his own in some ways. And taking it lessened its power.
When she had calmed, she looked up into his face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Of course you are.” He leaned forward to kiss her temple. “Now tell me what happened to so upset you.”
She recited the details of the encounter slowly, and his heart sank with each one. What she was describing was truly a man on the edge. And while he had been threatening Matthew for years and Matthew was certain he would never actually follow through on any real plans, it was still disturbing to know that he was trying to wield Isabel as a weapon.
“I told him I would never involve myself in a plot to hurt you,” she said at last. “And he told me we didn’t need to see each other again.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I realize how much that must hurt you.”
“It does,” she admitted. “He was all the family I had left. There are a few cousins here and there, but I was never close to them. But I’m more afraid than anything.”
“Why? Because he was trying, once again, to find a way to cause me grief?” he asked. “Darling, he’s been doing that for so long, I hardly recall a time when he wasn’t. I appreciate the concern, but there is no reason.”
She grabbed for his arm and clung with both hands. “But Matthew—”
“Shhh,” he soothed her, drawing her close again. “I promise you, there’s nothing to fear. In truth, now that his last connection to me is severed, he might just settle back down. It could be for the best.”
“I still think he’s dangerous,” she insisted. “I’m afraid for you.”
He blinked as he looked down into her face. She was utterly serious in her concern for him. And the recognition of how deeply she cared, how driven she was to protect him, highlighted the closeness they had developed since the night at the Donville Masquerade, a lifetime ago.
And even more surprising was how he felt the same for her. A drive to comfort her. Help her. Soothe her.
He slid his fingers along the curve of her jawline and dropped his lips to hers.
For a moment, the kiss was gentle. Sweet. But it swiftly deepened and moved toward the powerful physical connection they shared. He knew one way to make her forget everything but pleasure. And if the way she lifted against him was any indication, it was a way she wanted to explore, as well.
He dropped to his knees before her, cupping her cheeks as he continued kissing her. He could feel her smiling against his lips, trembling as her hands fisted against his arms. There was surrender in her taste and her soft sighs as he broke his mouth away and dragged it down her throat.
“Lay back,” he ordered as he nudged his way between her legs with his shoulders and then began to slide her skirt up.
She looked like she might argue for one brief moment, but then she sighed, closed her eyes and rested her head back. She was trusting him completely with her body and her pleasure. He wanted to reward that trust. He wanted to grant her pleasure and take his own from watching her.
The skirt bunched at her knees and he leaned down to kiss each one in turn. She gasped and her eyes came open. She watched him kiss higher, his tongue tracing the inner line of her thigh as he parted her legs even farther.
When he pushed her skirt up over her stomach, he smiled and glanced up at her. “No drawers?”
She bit her lip and shrugged. “You said you wanted a little swan here and there.”
“Here,” he said, pressing his hand between her legs and smiling as she gasped in pleasure. She was already wet, and he parted her folds and spread the damp evidence of her desire across the hot opening of her sex. “And there.”
She murmured some kind of incoherent reply, which he ignored as he adjusted himself into place and then dropped his mouth to her. She opened wider with a cry, her hands coming to grip his hair as he traced her sex, reveling in her sweet, clean flavor. In the way she lifted to meet every stroke as he tasted each inch of her body.
“Please,” she murmured, her head thrashing on the settee as she lifted her hips to meet the strokes of his tongue. “Please, please.”
He continued to toy with her, stoking the ever-burning fire of her desire. He was of two minds. If he focused on the slick bud of her clitoris, he could have her screaming out his name and bucking against his tongue in moments.
Or he could draw this out. Draw her out. Give her even greater anticipation before she finally exploded around him.
The second seemed the best option. He glided his tongue along her length, specifically avoiding the place where she needed him most. She rocked helplessly and glared down at him. He smiled against her skin and responded by pressing two fingers into her sheath.
She gripped him immediately, her heat drawing him as far as he could go. He curled his fingers, watching as she mewled and contorted against the pleasure. He went on like that, curling and licking, sucking and teasing, until her breath was short and her fists pounded against the settee cushions in a silent plea for release.
Gone from her beautiful face was any regret or pain. Forgotten was trouble and anxiety. For both of them. Giving her this moment of pleasure was certainly a great one for him. One he appreciated almost as much as the moments when her shaking body milked him to completion.
