Nicholas made herwantin an entirely new way, and she ached for more.
“Isadora.” His voice scraped out, hot against her skin. His nose brushed her cheek. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and she caught her breath. Impatient, uncertain. This was all new to her; she needed him to take her hand and lead her through this new territory.
“Please…” she whispered.
His breath shuddered, and then his hand slipped beneath her hair, cradling her nape as he drew her in. The kiss deepened with the first touch. His mouth moved over hers with a voluptuous pressure that drew a soft ache through her belly. She parted her lips on a gasp, and his tongue found the tender inner curve of them.
She kissed him harder.
His fist twisted the charmeuse fabric at the base of her spine, pulling her more firmly against him, stomach to stomach. Her back arched, yearning for still more closeness, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Sothiswas a husband’s kiss.
She’d imagined the act, of course—what woman hadn’t, especially with such a handsome man for a husband—but she had never imagined it would be likethis. Like fire dancing through her, like something hot and wet and utterly sensual coursing through her limbs, demanding she yield.
This new hunger he had created in her was a terrible, restless thing; it would never be satiated.Shewould never be satiated unless he took her to his bed and somehow eased this ache inside her. There was a hollowness, an emptiness, a strange hole where before she had never noticed a loss, and she needed him to assuage her need.
He seemed agreeable. Every thrust of his tongue, every slide of his lips, every shuddering breath he released, pointed toward him being just as affected as her. And—there was something else, too, pressing against her midsection. Long and hard, it seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
If she’d had her mother still, perhaps she would have known what to expect from a man when he lay with a woman. And if she’d had married friends, she might also have learned. But although some of her sisters were married, they had never spoken to her about this, and so she did not know if the hard length pushed against her stomach was a good or bad thing.
That was, until she shifted, rubbing against it, and he groaned in the back of her throat, holding her still. When she looked up at him, panting, his eyes were closed.
“We should stop and think about this,” he growled, not opening his eyes, a furrow between his brow as though he fought himself.
“What is there to think about?” she whispered, bemused.
He shook his head violently. “That is… enough.” His arms loosened from around her, and although it looked as though it cost him an enormous effort of will, he stepped back. “We should go to bed.”
Oh, was that what he meant? Would he finally visit her bed so he could kiss her again, but in a more suitable place?
“Separately,” he quickly added, seeing her face and sensing her thoughts. “You should go to sleep, Isadora.”
Sleep… when she felt like this, restless and aching and on fire? The throbbing between her legs was so urgent it bordered on pain. What she needed was notsleep, but relief.
“Is there… is there something wrong with me?” she asked, suddenly uncertain. Anger and frustration and hurt warred in her body, and she swallowed hard. “Is there a… a reason you don’t wish to be with me?”
“You? No.” A quick, bitter smile flashed across his face, and he reached up a hand to brush her cheek with his knuckle. “You’ve done nothing wrong. But you deserve better than…” He shook his head. “You deserve better. And I… I cannot give you that.”
“I don’t care!”
“I do.”
Pride dictated she say nothing more. Her bedchamber door was behind her, and she reached for it blindly, grasping the handle and turning, all without looking away from Nicholas. He didn’t move, waiting until she stumbled inside and slammed the door in his face. Even still, hope lingered in her chest that he might change his mind and follow her inside.
But his footsteps eventually sounded toward his own door, slow and ponderous.
Isadora touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, tracing their lines, wondering.
Then she took hold of her pillow and flung it at the door.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
If Isadora could not have Nicholas, then she at least had a daughter by proxy. The first opportunity she had, she took Sophia into York. It was the first time the young girl had come shopping with another woman, and her eyes were giddy as a feline’s as they descended from the carriage.
“Remember what we agreed; stay close,” Isadora instructed, clasping Sophia’s gloved hand.
All around them, people of the world bustled. Young girls from a finishing school waddled behind their schoolmistress, all wearing their uniforms, like ducklings behind a mother swan. Ladies talked and gossiped beneath fans, their chaperones following in tow. Urchins scurried through the crowds, and horses abided patiently as their masters entered shops or stopped to exchange words with passersby.
