Page 30 of Lord of Loyalty

Chapter Sixteen

“Oh, you should have seen him!”

Will had rescued a sour-looking Isobel immediately after Pike and the constable had left the premises, and could barely contain his laughter.

“Why? I don’t know what’s so amusing.” She kept her voice low, but there was no one to overhear them.

“Many apologies for hustling you into that niche, but it was necessary. I would have had you out sooner, but hadn’t expected your cousin to take a full half an hour hunting for you.”

She looked like a peacock whose feathers had been ruffled, so he stroked her back, then escorted her into the parlor where they could speak privately.

“It was a bizarre spectacle. Pike searched every chamber below, peering behind drapes, and even into cupboards. He then insisted on going upstairs and looking in all the chambers. Whether they were inhabited or not, he felt it incumbent on himself to open every clothes chest and look behind every fire screen. He even visited the servants’ attic—’tis as well you left nothing identifiable in your room. The constable trailed around after him, his face growing darker with each new piece of folly.”

Will pulled her onto the settle beside him, warmed with good humor. If only she would smile. They’d had a fortunate escape and, if Fate favored them, would be well rewarded. “When Pike started opening drawers, I wanted to laugh aloud. I wish you could have seen him. He went down to the pantry after that, then explored the scullery, and even rummaged through the laundry pile. He got a foul look from Cook, and Goodwife Cooper looked ready to beat him about the head with her limestone mortar. My staff are, it seems, good judges of character.”

There was still a frown on Isobel’s face. Why could she not see the jest?

Wait, he’d kissed her before shoving her into the priest’s hole. Was that what she was so irritated about? He’d used no finesse at all, just been carried away in the heat of the moment. He’d make a better job of it next time.

Next time?

His vision focused on her ruby lips, now bearing just the hint of a smile. He hadn’t given himself time to savor them, to enjoy them. Now, there was no hurry—so long as she was prepared to let him kiss her again.

He held her steady, holding her gaze as he moved closer. She didn’t move, didn’t blink—just threatened to drown him in the sea-green depths of her eyes. He should have known one kiss would never be enough. Once he’d tasted those lips, he was as much in thrall to them as she had been to her opium.

As he bent his head to hers, what had been intended as the gentlest of touches became something more significant. When his lips brushed over hers, her mouth moved beneath them, and she tasted him, shyly at first, then urgently. He pressed against her, melding his mouth to the delicious softness of hers.

His hands slid behind her shoulders, drawing her nearer, so her breasts brushed his chest. She quivered in his arms, and he reveled in the sweet pleasure of holding her close once more, under such different circumstances to the last time. She wasn’t fighting—she was inviting him.

He let his tongue slide along hers, withdrew to tease her, then returned to explore the tempting velvet of her mouth. And she met him, stroke for stroke, her hands tangling in his hair. He forgot himself, allowed the kiss to consume him. Were this moment to stretch out forever, he’d have no objection at all.

Wait, what was he doing? He’d fought temptation for weeks, refusing to take advantage of her vulnerability. Had all that self-denial been for nothing? Heart pounding in his ears, he pulled back, releasing her.

She looked down at her hands and starting rolling his ring around her finger, but she didn’t flee, or weep, or strike him. Which had to be a good sign. But internally, he cursed himself for his lack of self-control. How could he call himself a gentleman when he was about to corrupt an innocent? He ran a hand through his hair, struggling for the right words—but there was no point pretending what had passed between them could be lightly dismissed.

Before he could martial his thoughts, Isobel lifted her head, eyebrows raised. “Now then, Sir William Cavendish, what exactly did you mean by kissing me like that?”

He wished he knew the answer to that question himself. “I… um… I didn’t mean it to be quite as… thorough as that.” Curse it! He sounded more like a dithering schoolboy than a man of experience.

The green eyes regarded him levelly. “Was that an attempt at seduction?”

Yes. No. He’d have liked it to be.

“I would never try to seduce a woman I hold in such high regard.”

“That is worse than no answer at all.”

Aye, he knew it. His words lacked conviction. The awful truth was, now that he’d kissed her, his body wanted to know more of her. It was as much as he could do to hide his desire. It felt as if his carefully laid plans had been shattered, like ice on a pond being struck with an ax. His resolve was in pieces, and all he wanted to do was damn Pike and Paulina to hell, marry this woman, and take her to bed.

Which was—almost certainly—not what Isobel needed to hear right now.

“Then let us agree what happened just now was a mistake, brought on by the thrill of hoodwinking my ghastly cousin Hubert. It will do neither of us any good to dwell on the matter, so I suggest ’tis forgotten. I’m sure you’re thinking the same thing yourself.”

She stood to leave. Farther along the passageway, the main door was pulled to, and the latch dropped into place.

“No, wait. We need to know who’s just arrived.”

He laid a hand on Isobel’s sleeve. His breath sounded loud in his ears as he waited, hoping his plan had borne fruit.