The tension snapped, and Isobel shattered around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashed over her in waves even more intense than any of the others that had come before. She felt Richard thrust deep one final time, felt him pulse inside her as he found his own release, groaning her name like a prayer.
They stayed locked together for long moments, both trembling and gasping for breath. Richard's head rested on her shoulder, and she could feel his heart racing against her chest, matching the frantic beat of her own.
Finally, Richard pulled back slightly to look at her, and Isobel saw something in his eyes that made her chest ache – tenderness mixed with sorrow, pleasure edged with pain.
“Thank you,” Isobel whispered, reaching up to cup his face. “Thank you for giving me this.”
Richard turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “I should be thanking you. You have given me a gift beyond measure.”
They stayed like that for a while longer, neither wanting to break the spell, to acknowledge that the outside world still existed and would soon demand they return to it. But eventually, reality intruded, and they had to separate, had to make themselves presentable.
Isobel winced as she stood, feeling the evidence of her lost innocence, the soreness between her legs. Richard noticed and reached for her, concern in his eyes.
“Are you all right? I did not hurt you too badly, did I? Shall I carry you back?”
“I am fine,” Isobel assured him, though she knew she would be feeling this for days. “Truly.”
They helped each other dress in silence, both of them seemingly aware that with each garment replaced, they were rebuilding the walls between them. By the time they were fully clothed again, the moment had passed, and they were once more back in their formal roles.
Richard as the Duke of Dellamare and Isobel as Miss Wightman – strangers bound by duty and circumstance, nothing more.
“I should return to the ball,” Isobel said finally, unable to meet his eyes. “People will have noticed my absence.”
“Let me escort you back, at least,” Richard offered softly, but Isobel shook her head.
“It is better if we return separately. Less chance of... questions.”
Richard nodded, though she could see the reluctance in his expression. “Isobel–”
“Do not,” she interrupted gently. “Please. We agreed. One night, and then we forget. Let us not make this harder than it already is.”
“How can I forget?” Richard asked roughly. “How can I possibly forget this? Forget you?”
Isobel felt tears threaten again, but she forced them back. “You will. And so will I. We must. There is no other choice.”
She moved toward the door, needing to escape before her resolve crumbled entirely. But Richard caught her hand, pulling her back for one last kiss – gentle and bittersweet and full of everything they could not say.
“Goodbye, Isobel,” he whispered against her lips.
“Goodbye, Richard. Thank you,” she replied quietly, feeling her heart shatter as she put some distance between them.
And then she walked out into the night, leaving the pieces behind in that small gardener's cottage.
As she made her way back to the manor, Isobel touched her lips, still swollen from Richard's kisses, and allowed herself one moment of grief for what could never be. Then she straightened her shoulders, composed her expression, and prepared to return to being Valerie Wightman.
One more day. Just one more day, and this nightmare would be over.
She only had to survive until then.
Richard stood alone in the darkness after she had left, his hand pressed against his chest as though he could physically hold his breaking heart together. He had given Isobel what she asked for – one night, one perfect night to carry with them into their separate futures.
But now that he had held her, tasted her, felt her come undone in his arms – how was he supposed to let her go?
The truth crashed over him with devastating clarity: he was in love with Isobel Lennox. Completely, irrevocably, hopelessly in love.
And it did not matter that she was unsuitable, that she defied every expectation of what a duchess should be. It did not matter where she was raised or what she sounded like. It did not matter that she likely did not know the first thing about the intricate rules governing his world.
None of it mattered, because she was everything he had never known he needed. She was brave and fierce and honest in a world of carefully crafted lies. She made him laugh, made himthink, made him want to be better than the cold, duty-bound man he had become.
