Promise Me Tonight (34 page)

Her low moan was the end of him. “Open your eyes, Izzie,” he commanded.

She did more than that. She launched herself at him and grabbed his face, pulling his mouth down to hers. His chuckle at her eagerness dissolved into a strangled growl as he tasted the hot, luscious cavern of her mouth.

Delicious.

From the moment her lips had touched his, there had been a sort of divine alignment, like the unique pairing of a lock and key, and something had shifted in the universe, fitting them inextricably together. And fit together they did. He remembered all too well how sweetly her tight passage had gripped him . . . and how much he wanted to be inside her again.

He settled her on him just as he’d described in his fantasy, straddling him, with her skirts rucked up about her thighs, allowing him to slide his hands down and cup the soft, firm flesh of her posterior. He gently urged her forward, pressing them together at the spot where their bodies longed to join. The action wrung gasps from them both, and Isabella’s arms tightened around his neck as if she never wanted to let go. He hoped she never would.

How could he have ever thought anything—revenge included—tasted sweeter than her love?

How could he have believed he could stay away when he needed her to survive?

How could—

How could the bloody coach have stopped?

“Izzie?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

She nipped his earlobe and Christ, if he didn’t nearly come in his breeches right then and there.

“Oh God,” he groaned. “Sweetheart, you have to stop.”

“And why is that?” she purred. “I don’t think we’re nearly done here.”

James wanted to weep. “I know, my love, I know, but the coach has stopped, and I believe we’re about to be interrupted.”

He watched as she processed his words, then saw the dawning horror on her face. She scrambled off him and flung herself into the opposite corner of the carriage just as there came a rapping on the door.

“Yes?” James bit out.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but the other coach just pulled off the road.”

“Bride!” Isabella gasped.

James bolted out of the carriage and began to run, Isabella close on his heels. They slowed as the occupants of the other conveyance disembarked and a squalling Bride was handed down to Thora, who grinned and waved.

“I thin’ this wee lil’ piggie is hungry again,” she shouted.

James didn’t particularly like hearing his daughter referred to as swine, but as long as she was safe and sound, he was willing to overlook the matter. He went to consult with Davies, who had been driving the second coach.

“We hit a rut,” the man explained, “and though it was a fair jolt, I didn’t think too much on it, but then the carriage started to feel different beneath me and I got uneasy- like. I figured it was better to pull off and check that everything were sound.”

“When the contents are that precious, one cannot be too cautious,” James agreed. Together they checked the vehicle for damage and found a crack in the rear axle. Had Davies driven much farther, or had he hit another bad spot on the road, the piece would have broken clean apart and the carriage would almost certainly have overturned. His guts twisted.

“There’s no use fretting over what- ifs, my lord. What’s important is no one got hurt.”

“Ever the voice of reason, Davies. Tell the postillion to walk the carriage to Ayton. The axle should hold up that far; it can’t be more than six or seven miles. We may as well rack up there for the night.”

With the addition of Becky, Thora, and Bride to the coach, James’s visions of a romantic interlude were again relegated to the status of dreams. Three-quarters of an hour later, he wondered if he hadn’t somehow stumbled into a nightmare.

Bride would not stop crying, and nothing Thora or Isabella did seemed to comfort her. She couldn’t possibly be hungry, because Izzie had fed her while he’d been inspecting the other coach. Thora swore her diaper was dry, so that wasn’t the problem. Izzie rocked her, bounced her, sang to her, swaddled her, unswaddled her—none of it made a difference. Bride screamed till she was red in the face and then shrieked some more.

James was at his wits’ end. “Can’t you make her stop?” Isabella looked at him through narrowed eyes. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you try?” She shoved the squalling bundle at him.

James warily took Bride into his arms. The wailing stopped. James smiled smugly at Izzie. “See, that wasn’t so—”

Bride resumed her howling with renewed gusto.

“You were saying?” Isabella sneered.

James drew Bride closer to his chest. “Just give me a moment and—Jesus, what is that smell?”

“Oh dear!” Isabella put a hand up over her nose. “She needs to be changed, and there’s not enough room with all of us in the carriage.”

James nodded, handed a now-whimpering Bride over to Thora, and rapped on the roof of the coach to signal Davies to pull off the road. As soon as they had stopped, James threw open a door and jumped to the ground, gulping deep breaths of fresh air. “How can someone so little,” he gasped, “produce such a horrendously foul odor?”

“Welcome to the joys of parenthood,” Izzie grumbled from inside the coach.

“I believe I’ll ride the rest of the way on the box with Davies,” James said quickly. “That way you will all have more room.”

Isabella muttered something James felt certain was desultory. It was difficult to believe that an hour or so earlier she’d been moaning in his arms. Events, and his mood, had definitely taken a turn for the worse.

Matters declined further when they reached Ayton. James was able to secure two rooms for the night, and he’d planned to use one of them to pick up where he and Isabella had left off in the carriage. Unfortunately for him, Isabella seemed to have come back to her senses and insisted on rooming with Bride and the female servants.

James was in a foul temper the next morning, which wasn’t helped by learning that the repairs on the second carriage might take several days. Then Isabella announced over breakfast that after the previous night’s near mishap, she planned on riding with Bride the rest of the way back. Having had a brief taste of what
that
would be like, James decided for the sake of his sanity—and his ears—to hire a horse and let the women take over his coach.

Becky and Thora set about repacking the trunks, and James arranged to have the remaining baggage sent on to Sheffield Park. It was ironic, but for the first time in his life he was actually looking forward to seeing the damned place.

By the time they reached Sheffield Park, Isabella was thoroughly sick of traveling. The journey back from Scotland had not only felt twice as long as the trip there, but by her calculations it had actually taken twice as long. Between the rotten weather and the demands of an infant, their return had taken more than a fortnight. Fifteen days, five hours, and forty-eight minutes, give or take a few.

Not that she had been counting.

She was more familiar than she wished to be with the various inns and posting houses along the Great North Road, including their lumpy mattresses, inferior cooking, tepid bathwater, and in several cases, their rodent population. Sheffield Park was an impressive estate by even the highest standards, but given her accommodations of late, passing through the gates and up the long, curving drive was like approaching heaven.

James had ridden ahead to alert the staff of their imminent arrival. Izzie hoped Mrs. Benton wasn’t going to round up all the servants to introduce them to their new mistress. There would be time enough for that tomorrow; right now all she wanted was a hot bath and a decent night’s sleep in a comfortable bed.

Alone.

She didn’t know what arrangements James had seen fit to make, but she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like them—or that she might like them too much. Their moments in the carriage kept her awake at night, but she hadn’t forgotten her mother’s warning.

As much as she yearned for his touch, as much as she loved him, there was still too much left unresolved between them. She just hoped she had the strength to resist him and to keep from giving in to her own desires.

When the coach pulled up in front of the house, James was waiting on the stairs to meet them. He escorted Izzie into the house, where Mrs. Benton (and only Mrs. Benton, thank heavens) was waiting to fuss over everyone.

“Welcome, my lady. I couldn’t be more delighted to finally have you here at Sheffield Park. His lordship decided that the formal introductions could wait, seeing as the hour is late.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Benton. I confess, I am likely to fall asleep where I stand.”

“You poor dear. I ordered a hot bath drawn the moment I heard the clatter of the coach coming up the drive.”

“Bless you! I trust my husband told you I would need rooms near the nursery?”

“Indeed. Quite convenient it is, what with his lordship’s chambers being so near there.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The nursery is in the east wing,” James explained. “My rooms are there as well since my grandfather’s apartments are in the west wing and he preferred that we have as little contact as possible.”

“Your old rooms, you mean. Now that you are the earl, you have moved,” Isabella clarified.

James shook his head. “I still use my old rooms. I have some fond memories there.” He had the audacity to wink at her.

Izzie tugged on James’s sleeve. “Excuse us, Mrs. Benton. I need to have a private word with my husband.” She dragged James to the far end of the entry hall. “I don’t know what notions you’ve got into your head, but we will not be sharing a bedchamber,” Isabella hissed.

“Where do you expect me to sleep, then?”

“Sleep in the earl’s apartments.”

“No.”

“Then sleep in the stables for all I care. You are not sharing a bed with me.”

“Fine.” James sighed. “I’ll take the earl’s chambers, but only because I’m too exhausted to debate the matter.”

“Now for the rules . . .”

“There are rules?” He looked amused.

“Yes, I think we should set some basic rules. Namely that, with the exception of visiting Bride, you will not set foot in the east wing unless I have expressly invited you.”

“Very well, then you will not set foot in the west wing unless
I
have expressly invited
you
.”

Izzie rolled her eyes. “What, are you worried I’ll sneak into your bedchamber and seduce you?” She spoke without thinking, then clapped a hand over her mouth when she realized what she’d said.

James burst out laughing, curse his black heart. “Let’s just say it’s happened before.”

Chapter 21

We are finally arrived home to Sheffield Park. I cannot help feeling odd calling this house my home, but I hope in time the word will come naturally. I shall bring Bride for a visit in a few days’ time, once we are suitably recovered, so she may meet her grandfather, her uncle, and her gaggle of aunts. Please assure Lia and Genni that I have not forgotten their recent birthday. I have had little time to shop, but it just so happens I have come into a vast library of books that I believe will make an excellent present for girls of thirteen. They shall be excessively diverted, and I have always believed the sign of a good gift is its ability to delight and amuse.

From the correspondence of Isabella, Lady Dunston,

age twenty

Letter to her mother, Mary, Viscountess Weston, proposing

possible, if potentially improper, presents for a pair of

already-precocious poppets—December 1798

A
day passed in relative peace with Isabella settling in and exploring her new home—at least, the half she had claimed for herself. She didn’t see James, but she figured he was closeted in his study, tending to all those urgent estate matters that had necessitated their precipitous return from Scotland. Even Bride was quiet, though that probably had more to do with the sugar teat Mrs. Benton had made for her than anything else. As with all good things, though, it was not to last. The air of calm dissipated early the following morning when a veritable army of tradespeople descended on the house.

Isabella went to the front hall to investigate, but all she managed to see was Mrs. Benton pointing the last man in the direction of James’s rooms. As she’d claimed no interest in her husband’s affairs, Izzie sent her maid to the servants’ hall to see what gossip she could glean.

“Redecorating, my lady, and some renovations,” Becky told her, relaying the limited information she had been able to gather. “That’s all anyone would say. They’re a closemouthed bunch here, I must say.” She shook her head in disappointment.

Isabella quite understood how she felt. It wasn’t that she cared what James was doing, she told herself, but redecorations should really fall under the province of the lady of the house. Not that she didn’t have plenty of issues with which to occupy herself. Sheffield Park hadn’t had a mistress since James’s grandmother had died, which she reckoned had to be at least fifty years ago, and the house clearly needed a woman’s touch. Mrs. Benton was a more than competent housekeeper, but she was getting on in years.