After the Kiss (19 page)

Finally he heard the good nights, and the front door opening and closing. His heart began to beat faster—not with
apprehension, but with anticipation. He might be a nonentity to the rest of good Society, but he hadn’t become one to Isabel. Not yet, anyway.

Returning to his shelter behind the wardrobe, he waited as footsteps and voices began trailing up the stairs. It seemed like hours before Isabel and her maid entered her room, closing the door behind them. Soft citrus spun into the air, and he went hard.

“Shall I lay out your morning dress, my lady?” the maid asked, as she helped Isabel unbutton the back of her stunning gown.

Sullivan saw her glance toward the wardrobe, and he deliberately moved, putting a finger over his lips. Isabel gasped.

“What is it, my lady?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Isabel said hurriedly. “A yawn. Penny, you may go. I’ll see to the rest myself.”

“But your gown—”

“I’ll manage. Thank you. I’m just frightfully tired.”

The maid dipped a curtsy. “Very well, my lady. Shall I wake you at nine o’clock again?”

“Yes. That will be fine. Good night.”

“Good night, Lady Isabel.”

As soon as the door closed, she stalked up to Sullivan. “What the devil are you doing in my bedchamber?” she hissed.

“That wasn’t the reception I was hoping for,” he said dryly, unable to resist reaching out to stroke her bare throat with his fingers.

“Does this mean you decided against robbing Fairchild House after all?”

“No. The painting’s safe in my house.”

“Sulli—”

“I just wanted to make certain that nothing happened to you after I left. That no one had any idea I was there.” Running his fingers down her arm, he took her hand. “Are you well?”

“Yes. Oliver knows something, but he didn’t accuse anyone of anything. Apparently several ladies saw his skill in dancing with me, and were interested in claiming the last waltz of the evening.”

He drew her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He felt her fingers tremble beneath his, and smiled a little. “Good.”

“He’ll know tomorrow that you burgled Fairchild’s house. And he’ll know for certain that it was you I waltzed with.”

Sullivan felt his smile fade. “If he asks directly, you have to tell him that you thought he was the tiger, being mysterious. I doubt he’ll press the issue. He can’t, without admitting I bested him.”

“‘Bested him,’” she repeated. “Please tell me that I’m not some sort of prize in a tug-of-war.”

“You’re not.” Yes, it had crossed his mind, but not any longer.

“Humph.” Isabel pulled her hand free and turned her back on him. “Undo my dress.”

“As you wish,” he murmured, shifting her long blonde hair over her shoulder so he could reach the row of buttons running down her back. As he opened each one, he kissed the skin he’d bared. “Does this mean I’m to stay?” he asked between kisses.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she returned, her voice breathy and not quite controlled. “You did dance rather well tonight.”

“Thank you. So did you. It made me wish that wings were fashionable riding attire.”

He wanted to ask her what interesting things Oliver had said to her when he finally appeared, but that would be a sure way to get him thrown out the window, and it was a good twenty feet to the very prickly-looking rosebushes below. Aside from that, he wasn’t entirely certain that he
did
want to know whether she found Lord Tilden’s attentions flattering, or whether she would accept when he offered for her. Because he would offer for her; Sullivan was certain of that.

“Perhaps this will help to persuade you,” he said aloud, slipping the dress forward over her shoulders, letting his hands drift down to graze her breasts. He lingered there, circling his fingertips closer and closer until he pinched her nipples lightly between thumb and forefinger.

She gasped, sagging back against his chest as he continued his ministrations. It fascinated him, that she could be so sought-after as a wife and yet he was the first one inside her bed, inside her body. She fascinated him, probably too much. A sane man, even a heathen such as he, would have thought twice—or thrice—about bedding a young lady in her father’s own house.

He’d had only one thought, and it had been a constant one almost since he’d first kissed her. And even last night in the stable hadn’t been enough. Not nearly. In fact, that had only made his yearning for her worse.

Pushing the gown down past her waist, he lowered his hand to her stomach, and then farther, slipping his fingers through her curls and pressing up against her. God, she was damp for him. Forcibly turning her to face him, he bent his head down to kiss her.

She opened her mouth to him, her tongue flitting between his teeth and making him groan. Isabel slipped her hands beneath his jacket, pushing the heavy thing off his shoulders.
He shrugged his arms out of it and dropped it to the floor. “Poppet,” he murmured against her mouth, sliding his arms around the swell of her hips and pulling her up against him.

In his arms she seemed so fragile, but she had more courage than some soldiers he’d known. In order to keep him under her control she’d chosen what had probably been for her the most terrifying course she could imagine. And today she’d ridden a horse in Hyde Park.

Isabel pulled his shirt free, her warm fingers gliding up his chest, bare skin against bare skin. His cock strained at his trousers, the ache painful and welcome at the same time. He yanked his shirt off over his head so he could resume kissing her.

“I wasn’t worried about me, you know,” Isabel muttered, going to work on his trousers. “I just didn’t want you to get in any more trouble.”

“Me get into trouble?” he repeated, lifting her in his arms to carry her to the bed. “You
are
trouble, Isabel.”

Sullivan sat on the edge of her bed so he could remove his boots. Both they and he seemed incongruous in a bedchamber filled with lace pillows and bed hangings, and yellow and pink flowers and clippings of French gowns from the latest fashion plates.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, sitting up behind him. Her hands exploring the muscles of his back and shoulders made him shudder.

“Your perfect life,” he admitted quietly, mindful that her younger brother had the room next to hers. “I truly don’t belong here.”

“But you are here,” she returned, pulling at him until he gave in and lay back. “And if I’d asked you to go when I saw you lurking in the corner, you would have.”

“I wasn’t lurking.” He looked up at her. “And are you so certain I would have left?”

“From the moment you broke into this house,” she answered, leaning down over him and kissing his chest with a feather-light touch that stole the air from his lungs, “you’ve left me half mad with annoyance and frustration, but you’ve also been the most…intuitive and honest man I’ve ever met.”

The compliment made him smile. “You neglected to mention lust. I think that’s persuaded you more than anything else.”

“It has not.”

“Are you certain?” He lifted his head, taking one of her breasts in his mouth.

She moaned, the splayed fingers of her hands digging into his chest. God, he wanted her. But it wasn’t just that. He liked conversing with her. And dancing with her. A few of her peers might be polite to him, but if they conversed at all, it was about horses. With her, he could chat—and argue—about anything. He liked arguing with her.

Sullivan finished removing his trousers and went back to kissing her. Whatever his body craved, simply putting her on her back and rutting wouldn’t do. He might not be a gentleman, but he wasn’t an animal, either.

“Sullivan,” she murmured shakily, jumping as he trailed his hand up the inside of her thighs, “may I touch you?”

She
was
touching him. For a moment he frowned, before he realized where her gaze was. “Please do.”

He steeled himself, leaning back on his elbows, as her hesitant fingers stroked his cock, then wrapped around it. It would have been easy to let go right then, but he gritted his jaw and fought against it as she explored him.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?” she whispered, her voice growing huskier. She stroked along his length again.

“Yes, it does,” he grated, trying to keep his eyes from
rolling back into his head. He reached down to take her hands, pulling her away from him. “Time for another riding lesson, Isabel.”

“Wha—
Oh
,” she returned, her eyes widening. “Show me.”

Guiding her right leg over his hips until she straddled him, Sullivan sat up to kiss her again. Then he put his hands on her slim hips and pulled her down, watching as his member slid slowly up inside her. Her warm, tight heat engulfed him, and he moaned again. “Isabel.”

He showed her, up and down, up and down, while he lifted his hips to meet her. She learned quickly, and he gave in to the pleasure of it all, thrusting up into her, teasing at her breasts until she gasped and climaxed. Sullivan wrapped his arms around her back, twisting them until he was on top and she lay on her back looking up at him. Harder and faster, deeper he pushed and retreated, until he felt himself crossing the edge.

At the last moment he left her, holding her tightly against him as he came. They lay tangled together for a long moment until he could breath again. Then he rose and went to find one of her pretty monogrammed kerchiefs so they could clean themselves.

As he lay down again beside her, she slipped her head onto his shoulder and he curled an arm around her. “Sullivan,” she whispered, her breathing still hard and her pulse fast under his fingers, “you feel very good.”

He chuckled quietly. “So do you, poppet.”

Too good, in fact. For Lucifer’s sake, he nearly hadn’t left her. He would have risked ruining the remainder of her life simply because he could barely stand the thought of not…finishing with her. Him. The child of exactly such a mistake.

“Oliver escorted us home tonight,” she said after a moment, her fingers absently roaming his chest. “He finds every way he can to ask whether you’ve been here or not without actually mentioning you. It was almost ridiculous tonight, the way he couldn’t ask why I told him I’d already waltzed with a tiger.”

“That’s because according to the Sullivan family, I don’t exist,” he returned. “It makes it difficult for him to not tolerate me publicly.”

“He’s been very nice to
me
. I know you detest him, and I don’t like the way he talks to you and about you, but when you consider it, neither of you are to blame for anything.”

Except for hiring thugs to beat him, but that was a private matter to be settled just between Oliver and him. “Perhaps not for the beginning of it,” he said aloud, “but for our actions since we became old enough to know better, yes, we can be blamed.”

“You have reasons for your anger. Both of you. I understand that. But you needn’t make things so difficult for yourselves, or for one another.”

“How else would you have us—me—behave?”

“With more tolerance.”

“Tolerance doesn’t erase sins, Isabel.”

She might have thought he referred to the burglaries, but he could be blamed for much worse than that. He’d made a possibly fatal misstep; he’d begun to fall very hard for the daughter of a nobleman.

Isabel gazed out her window into the dim predawn darkness. “How in the world did you get in here?” she asked. “Someone surely would have seen you coming through the front doors last night.”

Sullivan came up behind her, his warm hand sliding down beneath her robe to cup one breast. Sighing unsteadily, she leaned back against his chest. Four hours. She’d never felt as decadent, or as sated, in her life. And his touch still made her tremble.

“I swung down from the roof,” he said matter-of-factly, leaning down to brush his lips against the nape of her neck.

Oh, goodness
. “You won’t be able to leave that way.”

“Thinking about how to get rid of me already?”

Thankfully he didn’t sound annoyed. “It’s nearly daylight,” she returned. “I think we both know what’ll happen if you’re seen here with me.”

“Yes. A convent or life in the country for you, and transportation or a hanging for me, most likely.”

“Not for this,” she protested, reaching around to knock him on the hip. “You would only lose your livelihood because no one would ever purchase a horse from you again.”

“Perhaps I should just jump out the window and be done with it, then.”

Through the trees down below she made out a milk cart rattling down the street. Some of the servants were likely already awake, then. “I’ll check the hallway; you follow me.”

“No. I’ll manage. Get back in bed, poppet.” Turning her to face him, he kissed her softly on the lips.

“Sulli—”

“I’ll see you in”—he pulled out a battered pocket watch—“five hours.”

He released her, starting for the door. Isabel felt abruptly cold, inside and out. She followed him, grabbing his wrist, and he stopped.

“What is it?”

“May I ask you a question?”

Sullivan nodded, his elegant brow lowering.

“If…if circumstances were different, would you still…” She trailed off, not certain how to ask the question, and even less sure she wanted to hear the answer. She seemed to be careening straight toward disaster, though, and the more she knew about the path ahead, the better. Hopefully. “Would you still like me?” she finished.

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes showing green and serious as the sun neared the eastern horizon. “If circumstances were different,” he said slowly, pulling her up against him again, “I would knock at your front door in the middle of the day and ask your father for permission to court you.”

For a second it looked as though he’d intended to say something different, and her heart stammered. Did he care that much for her? Was he thinking the same things she’d begun to daydream about? His presence had drawn her from the very beginning. Now, though, he didn’t need to be anywhere in sight for her to be consumed with thoughts of him.

“This is not going to end well, is it?” she whispered.

He drew a finger along her cheek. “No,” he murmured back. “Not as far as I’m concerned.” Sullivan kissed her. “And if you knew what was good for you, you would dismiss me from your service and hire someone else today.”

As he released her and quietly pulled open her bedchamber door, Isabel knew that he was absolutely right. But the moment he vanished from sight, closing the door behind him, she wanted him back there again.

They were both being stupid, and reckless, and she’d never felt more conflicted. He should not have been there, they should not have been together, and at the same time she was quite certain that she would do it all over again in a fast heartbeat.

But what happened next? What did she want to happen tomorrow, or the next day, or in a year?

A tear plopped onto her arm. Slowly she brushed it away. The only thing she could hope for was that no one else discovered her secret, and that the gossips would find some other hapless target. She wouldn’t be participating in that fun, however. Lately she’d developed an aversion to speaking ill of other people.

Isabel donned her night rail and crawled back beneath the disheveled covers. Her sheets, though, smelled like him, stirring desire even after a night of indulgement. She tossed and turned restlessly for a quarter of an hour, then rose to go sit by the window and attempt to read.

She jerked upright as a knock sounded at her door. “Come in,” she called, blinking. Good heavens, it was light outside. How long had she dozed in her reading chair?

Douglas hurried into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Did you hear? Oh, of course not. But what are you doing out of bed?”

“I’m reading,” she lied, setting the neglected book aside and standing. “What time is it?”

“Half eight. I wanted to wake you half an hour ago, but I thought you might kick me if I did.”

“Very wise of you. What did I not hear?”

“Alders got it from the venison man that Lord Fairchild was burgled last night. And listen to this—apparently it happened
during
the masquerade. Mayfair’s screaming about the Marauder. Waring’s going to get himself caught, if he keeps taking chances like that. Did you know he would be there?”

“What makes you think it was Sullivan?” she asked, wondering why she bothered with the deception and already knowing the answer to that question. She wanted it to be someone else.

“Zooks, Tibby, give me some credit. A painting was taken. According to Alders’s source, anyway.”

“‘Alders’s source’?” she repeated. “He’s a butler.”

“With a good ear for news. You know it was Waring, Tibby. I like him. You know I do. But he’s got to stop stealing from people we’re acquainted with. If it ever gets out that we knew what he was up to, no one will ever speak to us again. Or we might even be arrested.”

“Well, he’ll be here at ten o’clock. I’ll mention that to him.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Oliver sent over a note. He’s coming by in an hour, and inquires whether you’d like to go for a morning drive in Hyde Park.”

She frowned. “He might have mentioned that last night.” Wonderful. Another complication. If Lord Tilden ever—
ever
—found out with whom she’d been sharing her bed, there would be bloodshed. She was certain of it. And oddly enough, preventing that was the only reason now that she continued to see him.

Douglas grinned. “Perhaps he dreamed of you and felt inspired.”

Isabel knocked him in the side of the head. “You’re an evil boy, and one day I hope you meet a young lady who drives you mad.”

“I already have you.”

“Go away, and send Penny up so I may dress, will you?”

He sketched a bow. “As you wish.”

That reminded her again of Sullivan. “Stop it. I am not imperious.”

“But the entire male population of the
ton
worships you,
ma petite
,” her brother cooed, taking her hand and bowing over it. “We would all die horribly for you.”

She shook him off, grinning reluctantly. “If you’d seen me at the Fordham soiree, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“Phillip told me. Eloise Rampling is a damned backbiting bagpipe.”

“Douglas,” she chastised.

“Well, don’t let her little lies bother you. Fairchild’s went well, didn’t it?”

“I had a dozen dance partners.” And she’d scarcely noticed any of them, or the dances, when she stood to one side. The man she’d most wanted to dance with had been there. Nothing else mattered.

“Go driving with Tilden, then. That’ll show everyone.”

It might help to repair her reputation, at that. Knowing how little the two half-brothers liked one another, though, it
also made her feel like a traitor. Discovering a mystery and participating in a deception were two very different things. Isabel rubbed her temple.

She shooed Douglas out of the room and sat to brush out her hair. By the time Oliver arrived, she and Penny had managed to turn her out presentably, and she’d headed downstairs to devour her breakfast. Being with Sullivan certainly left her famished. “Good morning,” she said, dipping a shallow curtsy as the viscount strolled into the morning room.

“And here I am yet again,” Oliver said, bowing his head in return. “Your household must be tired of seeing me so often.”

“Nonsense. Thank you for inviting me to go with you.”

“My pleasure.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

With Penny and Oliver’s liveried groom sitting on the narrow bench behind the seat, Oliver drove the phaeton to Hyde Park. At midmorning it was crowded, and she braced herself, ready to be as charming as possible to everyone they met.

It took less than five minutes for her to realize that they weren’t going to meet much of anyone. Carriages mysteriously turned down other paths, horsemen suddenly saw something of interest in the opposite direction, walkers had flowers to examine on the far side of the beds.

So no one had forgotten the rumors Eloise Rampling had worked so diligently to spread. Evidently she wasn’t as enticing without her butterfly wings. She’d truly thought Eloise had been her friend. Some of the people who avoided her today had been her friends, as well, though apparently the word didn’t mean the same thing to them that it did to her.

When she looked over at Oliver, his lean face bore a grim,
angry expression. As he caught her gaze, he put on a strained smile. “Everyone seems a bit preoccupied today,” he offered.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

He’d heard the rumors; he knew precisely why no one slowed to speak with them. With Oliver present the worst anyone could do was pretend not to see them; if she’d been alone, she would likely have been given the cut direct. And as they turned back to Chalsey House she hoped that for once Sullivan would have come and gone already.

Oliver’s restraint actually surprised her a little, considering his previous venomous reaction to his half-brother. And it probably meant something that he was still willing to socialize with her even with the rumors of her infatuation with a horse breeder flying about. Isabel stifled a scowl. Perhaps she should like Oliver more than she did.

As they pulled into the stable yard a groom came out to hold the team, and Oliver hopped to the ground. “I apologize,” she said quietly, as he came around to help her down from her seat.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he returned. “You’ve done nothing but show charity. It’s not your fault your good deeds have been abused by others with less pure intentions than your own.”

“I prefer to think that an innocent conversation was misinterpreted for no reason other than malice,” she offered, trying not to hesitate as she said the word “innocent.” It didn’t seem as though she’d ever had anything innocent in mind where Sullivan Waring was concerned.

Lord Tilden smiled at her. “You are good to say so. But don’t be so charitable that you allow harm to come to you, or
to your reputation.” His gaze moved beyond her, and his eyes narrowed. Before she could open her mouth to respond, he’d pushed past her.

She whipped around to see Sullivan emerging from the stable, Zephyr’s reins in his hand.
Oh no, oh no.

“You have some damned nerve, coming here yet again after the trouble you’ve caused,” Oliver snapped, closing on his half-brother.

Sullivan sent a glance his way, then continued with what he was doing. Her heart pounded, as much from seeing him in daylight as from what was likely to happen next. “Oliver!” she called.

Lord Tilden slowed. “Go inside, Isabel.”

“Only if you’ll sit to have some tea with me,” she returned, her gaze on Sullivan. The muscles in his jaw clenched, but otherwise he gave no sign he could hear either of them.

“I’ll join you in a moment. If you’re too kind to do what’s right, I’ll do it for you.”

Gathering her skirts, Isabel rushed across the yard, putting herself between the two tall men. “You will not do anything,” she snapped, backing toward Sullivan as she faced down the advancing viscount.

“Move aside, Isabel,” Oliver ordered.

“There’s no need to put yourself between us, my lady,” Sullivan said. “Lord Tilden wouldn’t dare begin a fight with me face-to-face. It wouldn’t look at all proper. He likes to hire fists to keep his own from getting bloodied.”

“I have no idea what you’re babbling about,” the viscount retorted.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that clever, Tilden.”

Isabel glanced behind her at Sullivan. “Your face. That was Oliver’s doing?”

“Not according to him. But then he’s never done anything improper, according to him.”

“Move aside, Isabel. This doesn’t concern you.”

A hand gently settled on her shoulder. “It’s fine, Tibby,” Sullivan murmured. “Go inside.”

“
My God
.”

At the sound of the exclamation, she looked back at Oliver. His angry gaze had moved from Sullivan to her. More specifically, to her shoulder, where Sullivan still touched her. In the same moment, the blood left her own face.
He knew.

“You’re finished, Waring,” Lord Tilden spat. He glared at her for another moment. “Poplolly.” Without another word he turned on his heel, stalked back to his phaeton, and climbed into the seat.

“Oh, no,” Isabel breathed, her heart beating so fast she began to feel dizzy.

“I would have let him leave,” Sullivan grated, “except for what he just called you.” He dropped the lead line and strode toward the drive.

“You think I care about that?” she retorted. “He said you were finished.”

Sullivan stopped. “That bit doesn’t worry me.”

“I don’t know why not. And please see to Zephyr. I don’t want her running off because someone called me a foul name.”

His jaw working, Sullivan returned to the mare and caught her reins. “That’s the only part I’m concerned with.” He tugged on Zephyr’s reins and walked the mare forward again.

Isabel followed him. “I don’t think you should take his threat so lightly,” she went on, nearly treading on his boot heels.

“He’s not going to do anything. He can’t.”

“Forgive me for not simply taking your word for it. If he accuses you publicly of wrongdoing, and me of being with you, name-calling will be the least of my worries.”

“He’s his father’s darling. If he wants to keep his inheritance, he’ll have to do exactly as Dunston says. And Dunston doesn’t want a public scandal anywhere close to him. You and your reputation are therefore perfectly safe, my sweet one.”