Chapter Ten
Royce shivered as the ambient temperature in the nighttime air cooled. Not wishing to have this unexpected intimacy with Isobel end just yet, he grabbed a handful of the quilt and awkwardly wrapped it around him and the woman in his arms.
The scent of orange blossoms and spice assailed his nose while he held Isobel close, and he frowned into her damp hair that was valiantly clinging to the few pins holding it up. Only then did thoughts besiege him.
Dear God. I’ve taken her innocence in a fit of pique and uncontrolled desire.
What was more, he’d allowed her to tease him into doing so. Yes, he’d agreed to an affair—but they’d never specified what exactly that would entail—and now here they were, basking in post-coital lethargy.
I’m a physician and a gentleman. I knew better.Yet she’d been like a siren of old, and he couldn’t resist her call. And damn if that quick coupling hadn’t quelled his immediate want of her. Perhaps now his head would clear, and his concentration would return.
Except, a damned sense of honor reared its head. He couldn’t escape his upbringing no matter how hard he’d tried to distance himself from it. With a sigh of regret, he stirred, loosening his hold. The conversation he’d need to have with her wouldn’t go down well with her.
Or him if he were being honest with himself.
So, he did what men for centuries had done best: stalled. “We should dress.” The patrols through Hyde Park were regular, but he rather doubted from this vantage point they’d be discovered. “And you’re cold besides.” Beneath his fingertips that he’d unconsciously drawn up and down her bare arm, the gooseflesh was evident.
“Must we?” A pout was evident in her voice. “This has been the singularly most exhilarating night of my life.”
Royce couldn’t hide his grin. He’d done that for her, had given her a gift that no other man had. “I’m afraid so. This is the downside of scandal. It’s always conducted in clandestine locales and the consequences are rather grim.”
Which brought him back to his original thoughts. Grim and life changing for a few stolen moments of pleasure.
“Then I’ll continue to chase it, for I rather enjoy the thrill.” Isobel wriggled from their temporary cocoon to rest on her knees. “I’m not of a mind to don the damp shift.”
There was no maidenly decorum about this woman, for she apparently didn’t care that she was still naked and her charms very much on display. The awe he already had for her edged upward as did his wariness, and damn if his prick didn’t shudder to life once more. “Isobel, have a care and cover yourself,” he whispered as his gaze dropped to her perfect, pert breasts that were just the right size for play.
Her low-pitched laugh caused havoc with his length. She leaned in close and brushed her lips over his. “We’re already nude.” One of her hands stole beneath the quilt to find his rapidly hardening equipage. “Why not have another go ’round, Doctor? I’ve heard enough stories from maids to wish to experiment with various positions—”
“Argh!” Never had he moved so fast or away from a lady with wicked intentions in her eyes. When he gained his footing, it was he who wrapped the quilt about his form as if he were an offended tabby at Almack’s. “Devil take it, Isobel. You must practice decorum.”
“Why? You enjoyed what we just did as much as I.” She grabbed her gown from the grass and then stood.
“I did, of course.” Royce tried to avert his gaze, he really did, but the opportunity to behold her naked form in the weak moonlight filtering between the trees was too great. Though she might act the hoyden, spend her time within clusters of males, and prefer to ride astride—dear God, had she ever worn men’s breeches?—she possessed enough feminine curves that would sufficiently drive said males wild if given the chance. Isobel resembled marble states of Greek women in the British Museum—pale skin, breasts graced with hardened pink nipples, slightly rounded hips, a narrow waist. To say nothing of the thatch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs that shrouded delicate skin and the sweetest honey.
Uncertainty skated through her expression. “Did you like it enough—like me enough—to wish to repeat the experience?”
Well, bullocks.The lady wasn’t the least bit hesitant about voicing whatever thought popped into her head. “I’d be lying if I said no.” He swept his gaze up and down her person once more before she finally tugged the navy gown over her head and smoothed it over her body. With a tiny sigh, he shook his head and willed away his newest cockstand. “I want more of the same if you’re willing.”
I’m the biggest nodcock in England for agreeing to any of her schemes.
“I’m so glad.” To see the genuine smile curving her kissable lips was worth the price he’d have to pay to remain in the scandalbroth. “I knew you’d be just the sort of friend I needed during this time of my life.”
He grunted in response while anxiety knotted in his stomach. After tossing the quilt away, he made quick work of donning his clothing. “I’ve instructed my carriage driver to return to the spot he left me within the hour. It would behoove you to let me escort you home.”
“Why?” She slipped on her petticoat beneath the gown and manipulated the ties at her waist.
“Hyde Park is no place for an unescorted lady after dark.” And he’d be damned if he’d walk away and leave her to her own devices after rutting with her as if he’d had no sense in his head. The more time he spent in her company, the more questions bounced through his mind like soap bubbles. She was addicting, and he was in danger of becoming an addict. “Uh, perhaps we should have a serious talk now that things between us have… progressed.”
“Why?” Her huff of frustration was all too evident. “Sexual congress doesn’t necessarily need to equal in-depth conversation.” Even in the darkness, he couldn’t mistake the look of askance she shot him. “It was intercourse, Royce, not a binding oath.”
Again, his sense of honor warred with the desire to have no commitments. “Perhaps.” He did up the buttons on his waistcoat. “Why do you do this sort of thing?”
“What sort of thing?” As she reached for the bottle of brandy, she frowned. The tangled, damp mass of her dark hair swung over her shoulder and hid her face from view.
“Behave like this, as if you’re daring everyone to notice you.” Hadn’t she said as much when she goaded him into this mess?
For long seconds, Isobel drank from the bottle. This time she didn’t cough or sputter after partaking in the spirits. Not for the first time did he hope her family was abed once he returned her home, for she looked like sin and before too long, she’d be drunk besides. Finally, she sighed and shoved her free hand through her hair. “I don’t know.”