She inhaled sharply as his mouth found her dripping center, moaning as his tongue stroked her entrance. Isobel’s eyes widened as she stared down at the man between her legs, his face nestled against her most secret place, his lips and tongue teasing and lapping at her like a man starved.
She tried to resist the urge to touch him – to embrace him or push him away, she could not say, but her fingers needed to find purchase on something. Isobel met her limit fast as his tongue pushed through her folds, going deeper and deeper into her wet heat and her hand rested on his head, fingers tangling in his hair.
The fear that he would punish her again ran through her, but he did not stop – if anything, his ministrations grew more insistent and she found herself unable to hold back her noises. Her muscles felt taunt and heavy, yet there was a lightness within her that made her feel as though she were floating.
“I-I -Richard, please –” she moaned, as her grip on his hair tightened.
“Then do it. Embrace your release,” Richard commanded with an attractive smirk, pulling away for a moment as his fingers replaced that sinful mouth of his. “And let me feel you fall apart.”
Isobel's entire body went rigid, and then she was crying out, her inner walls clenching around his fingers as pleasure crashed through her. Richard held her through it, his grip heavy her waist to keep her steady as she writhed in the chair. Once she had begun to settle, he stood and lifted her once more, murmuring praise against her throat as he sat down in the chair with her in his lap again.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful when you submit to me. Such a good girl, following my instructions perfectly.”
When Isobel finally came back to herself, she was trembling, her forehead resting against his uninjured shoulder. Richard could feel the rapid beat of her heart where their chests pressed together, could hear the small, satisfied sounds she was making.
“That was...” she started, then seemed unable to find words.
“Better?” Richard supplied, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“So much better,” Isobel confirmed. She pulled back to look at him, her eyes soft and sated. “You are a very good teacher, Your Grace.”
Richard smiled, genuinely pleased. “And you are an exceptional student. So willing to learn, so eager to please. This has been as enjoyable for me as it has been for you.”
The last statement made her blush greatly, and she pressed her head into the crook of his neck quietly. He allowed her to hide, and they remained that way for longer than they should have. But he allowed it, knowing that he was sinking deeper and deeper into whatever was growing between them.
This beautiful, bold, infuriating woman had captured something he did not even realize could be caught and used to hold onto him.
And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The drawing room hummed with the polite chatter of ladies at tea, the delicate clink of china that almost sounded like rhythmic music in the background of their conversations.
Isobel sat among them, a cup of tea cooling in her hands, playing the part of the bride-to-be who was eager to be wed in a handful of days.
She tried to focus on the conversations surrounding the latest fashion and the weather rather than the memory of Richard's hands on her body mere hours ago.
She could still feel the ghost of his touch, the way his fingers had worked magic between her thighs, the commanding tone of his voice when he had told her she was his. Heat flooded her cheeks at the thought, and she quickly took a sip of tea to cover her reaction.
“Are you feeling well, Valerie?” Bridget asked from across the small table, her expression a strange mix of reproach and concern. “You seem rather flushed. If you are going to faint, do so in your room so you do not spoil the afternoon for the rest of us.”
“I am quite well, thank you,” Isobel replied quickly, willing herself to come to her senses, whilst ignoring the dig from her cousin. “The tea is simply a bit hot.”
“You must take care not to overtax yourself,” another lady – Mrs. Pemberton, if Isobel remembered correctly – chimed in. “You only recently recovered from your illness, after all.”
“I assure you, I am quite all right, but thank you for the concern,” Isobel said with what she hoped was a convincing smile.
She was saved from further questions by the arrival of Deborah, who swept into the room with an air of pleasant authority. But as Isobel's aunt settled into the chair beside her, Isobel noticed something different about her demeanor. There was a tension around Deborah's eyes, a tightness to her smile that had not been there before.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Deborah greeted warmly, though Isobel detected a slight edge beneath the pleasantness. “What a lovely gathering.”
The other ladies welcomed her with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and conversation resumed. But Isobel felt Deborah's gaze on her repeatedly. Each time she looked at heraunt, the older woman would smile pleasantly, and the act would make Isobel strangely wary.
“Valerie, dear,” Deborah said after a few minutes, leaning closer in a conspiratorial manner. “I was just thinking about your childhood the other day. Do you remember that summer when you were perhaps seven or eight, and we all went to Brighton?”
Isobel's heart lurched, and it took all her strength not to portray her fear on her face. She had no such memory because at that age, she had been in Scotland, learning to fish in mountain streams and helping her mother in the garden.
“Brighton?” she repeated, buying herself time to think.
