Delectably Undone! Part 11

Ewan handed her a delicate china cup patterned with dragons. Isabella took it gratefully, mumbling her thanks without meeting his eyes. She had no idea how to behave.

"I am no more familiar with the situation than you," Ewan said, echoing her thoughts. "I don't make a habit of letting women into my home. In fact, you are the first."

He stood by the bed in a heavy brocade dressing gown, smiling mischievously down at her. In the light of day she could see streaks of gold glint through his copper mane of hair. The stubble on his chin was the same dark shade of copper as the hair on his chest. The animal magnetism which had drawn her last night seemed enhanced by his dishevelled state. Really, he was quite unfairly attractive.

"Belle?"

His voice interrupted her reverie. There was an edge of amus.e.m.e.nt in it which made her certain she had been staring. She met his gaze. "I beg your pardon."

"I was asking if you regretted our wager."

Isabella eyed him speculatively. "And if I said I did?"

He laughed, sure now that she did not, for there was no indication of either tears or recriminations. "And do you?"

She shook her head. "I had no choice."

"You prefer the illusion that you are acting under duress. You will not admit you are enjoying yourself."

"The only thing I am interested in is my money," she said firmly.

"You are being less than honest, Belle."

Her winged brows rose. Her mouth quirked. It was as if they were redrawing the battle lines for later, and she knew she had to muster every advantage. "I was your prize. I did as you asked, nothing more."

Ewan remembered now what it was about her which had drawn him to her in the first place. Defiance in the face of adversity. A determination to win against the odds. He liked it. And in the luminous daylight, she was quite simply breathtaking. He was intrigued as well as aroused. "Let us call a truce for now. Have your breakfast, and then join me in the garden. You will find clothes in the chamber next to this one. My sister's. She is recently married, and left them behind when she bought her trousseau." He noted her sceptical expression. "I may have a reputation but I don't lie, Belle, you may count on that."

He disappeared into his dressing room. Isabella took her time, enjoying the rich hot chocolate, nibbling hungrily on the bread and b.u.t.ter as she pondered her own feelings. Had it not been for the extremity of her circ.u.mstances she would not have dreamt of entering into such an outrageous bet, but having done so she could not regret it one little bit.

She had secured the funds-that was surely all that mattered. Even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. Last night she had discovered something shocking about herself. She had relished every minute of what had taken place. The memory of it aroused her now. More shocking still was the admission that she wanted more, and with it the understanding that it wasn't just the physical act she had enjoyed. She had pleasured herself before, but it had never felt like that. So intense. So gratifying. So primeval. Ewan's touch was part of it. Having Ewan inside her was another part-and a very large one, she remembered with a saucy smile.

But it was more than that. It was seeing him wanting her. It was about teasing him and taunting him and flaunting herself in front of him. It was knowing she was desirable and desiring to be more so. A heady mix, made all the more complex by their sparring.

Power was at the root of it all. And confidence. She trusted him enough to expose her secret self to him, though she could not have said why. She knew he had done the same. He was a stranger, yet he was familiar. As if she had always known him and somehow forgotten.

It was with a renewed sense of antic.i.p.ation that Isabella dressed in a robe a l'anglaise of pale blue muslin. With her coal-black hair free from powder, she looked much more like her true self. Last night she had crossed over into a new world. Or so it felt to her. She was surprised to see no evidence of the journey reflected back at her from the mirror.

Tripping lightly down the stairs, she let herself out of a side door and into the walled garden at the back of the house. It was clement for the time of year, with the sun s.h.i.+ning high in a pale blue sky scattered with puffy white clouds. A paved path meandered through formal beds, the edges bordered with lavender and thyme which brushed against her skirts as she made her way towards an arbour at the centre of a rose garden where she could see Ewan waiting.

He was looking serious, but rose to greet her with a warm smile she could not but return with one of her own. He was so handsome, and the day was so perfect, and Isabella was so glad to have escaped the worries and sadness of the last few months. She felt released. Free.

"I'm sorry, Belle, but there is something I must ask you," Ewan said as they wandered arm in arm towards a small fountain playing in the middle of a lawn at the bottom of the garden. "What need have you for such a large sum of money?"

Isabella hesitated. "To pay off a debt," she replied cautiously.

He raised his brows. "That is a lot of debt. May I ask how you incurred it? Surely, not through gambling. Despite your best efforts you had not the look of a seasoned gamester."

"And yet, in a sense it is a gambling debt none the less," she said sadly. "My father's, originally. And now my brother's."

"Tell me," Ewan said gently.

They had reached the fountain, a frothy confection of nymphs and seahorses disporting themselves playfully. Isabella sat on the stone basin, trailing her hand in the icy cold of the water. The urge to confide in him was strong.

"My father was always a bit of a dreamer. Always full of hare-brained schemes to make our fortune. When my mother was alive she kept his reckless impulses in check, but she died five years ago and since then-well, suffice it to say he was not inclined to listen to my advice."

"You mentioned a brother. Surely, he had some influence?" Ewan sat down beside her on the stone basin.

Isabella smiled. "Robin is my twin. I love him dearly. We are very alike to look at though not at all similar in character, I'm afraid," she said with a rueful smile. "Robin had rheumatic fever as a child, which left him with a weakened heart. His delicate const.i.tution combined with his natural inclinations make him even more unworldly than our father."

"Leaving you to look after them both?"

"Not any more. Robin is married now. To Pamela, last year. She is a good wife, she nurses him devotedly. They moved to the country when Papa settled an annuity on them, his wedding gift. They are very happy."

"So happy that they did not enquire how your father funded his gift, I gather," Ewan said dryly.

Isabella looked at him in surprise. "You're quite right, they didn't. It was another of Papa's schemes of course. His grand design, he called it. Said it would shape our future. He was certainly right about that." She was silent for a moment, staring off into the distance. Continued in a curiously flat tone, as if reciting something by rote. "The scheme involved buying s.h.i.+ps and speculating on the value of the cargo of precious spices and the like they could pick up in the West Indies. I tried, but nothing I said could dissuade him. In fact, the more I begged him to back out, the more determined he became to prove me wrong. He borrowed an enormous sum-privately, of course No bank would have given him the money. He sailed with the s.h.i.+ps. They were attacked by pirates. The s.h.i.+ps and cargo were taken and Papa killed in the melee." Isabella's eyes filled with pain. "Poor Papa. He may have been foolish but he only wanted the best for us."

She straightened her back and shrugged her head as if to cast off unwelcome thoughts. "That was some months ago. As his heir, poor Robin inherited the debt, which is far beyond what could be recovered by the sale of his property. He has tried, G.o.d knows, to find some means of generating sufficient funds, but without success. Now we have run out of time. We have until the end of the week, or Robin will go to prison." She swallowed, brushed impatiently at a tear. "The doctor has made it clear my brother would not survive the harsh conditions of prison. It is as good as a death sentence. So you see, I had to do something."

"Does your brother know of your actions?" Ewan asked harshly.

"No, no, of course not. I will think of some tale to satisfy him, you needn't worry."

"He does not deserve you," Ewan said, anger on her behalf warring with a kernel of guilt. With her hair unpowdered and her face free of rouge Belle looked younger and far more innocent than he had taken her for last night.

"I won't have you judge my brother," Isabella said vehemently. "You know nothing of him. And I won't have you judge me, either."

Ewan disarmed her by kissing her hand. "I would not dream of judging you. You have my deepest admiration, Belle. It is myself I would judge."

"I don't regret last night if that is worrying you. I have already told you that." Unwilling to have him question her motives further, for she was not ready to examine them herself, she gave him a challenging look. "Do you?"

Here at least he was on firmer ground. Ewan smiled. "Not if you don't. I knew the moment I saw you that we would give each other pleasure."

She blushed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Come on, Belle, you felt it, too, admit it."

She shook her head, turning aside to hide her smile. "That is the second time today you have tried to make me do so, but I won't. I needed your money. That is what I found attractive."

He touched her, a finger on the sh.e.l.l of her ear. His voice became low and husky. "You wanted me as much as I wanted you. I felt it in your kisses," he whispered, his mouth on hers. "And in your touch," he said.

She brushed his hand away. "You are quite right, I did," she said, looking at him with the determined tilt of her chin he already knew well. "It was not just your money I wanted, it was you. But not for the reason you think."

"My instincts tell me you are about to launch an attack. Yet still I would know. Tell me," he said with a sardonic smile.

She crossed her arms defiantly. "It's simple. I was curious. I am four and twenty, with no prospects. I do not want to die a virgin. I wanted the experience without creating an obligation. The terms of our bet made that possible."

He had known, of course he had known, that he was her first. It was inappropriate, but he could not help it. He was gratified as well as confused. "You should have told me. I would not have..."

"What," she interrupted, anxious to stall the guilt she saw looming in his eyes, "what would you have done differently? I knew the risks. I accepted the odds. I put up a creditable performance-at any rate, you seemed to enjoy it. That is what it was, though, a performance." She shrugged with what she hoped was nonchalance and turned to go, but a strong hand on her arm wiped the triumphant smile from her face.

"I wonder, though, my lovely Belle, why you waited so long? Had you made your need for a candidate to deflower you known, any man on earth would have been willing. Yet you chose me. Why?"

She licked her lips nervously.

Ewan laughed. "Take some advice from an experienced campaigner and retreat while you're ahead, Belle."

Isabella glared at him furiously, but could think of no retort.

Ewan took her arm. "It's gone one o'clock," he said, his tone more conciliatory now. "I find a night such as the last makes me uncommonly hungry. Let us go in search of sustenance."

With her nose studiously in the air and her temper simmering, Isabella walked with him back to the house.

But it was not in her nature to sulk, and over a repast of cold cuts and hothouse fruits, Ewan set out to charm her. Since he touched not on the personal, and his opinions happily coincided with her own on an astonis.h.i.+ng number of topics, this he did very well. He had a dry humour and pithy wit which Isabella found most invigorating. He made her laugh. She realised it had been many months since she had done so. His tales of his army days were fascinating, recounted with a modesty and humour which made her warm to him all the more.

"You're very self-effacing about your exploits," she said teasingly. "I had heard you were quite the das.h.i.+ng hero."

"I prefer to let my actions speak for me, rather than words," he replied with a shrug.

"Tell me," she asked, "what turned you into such an avid supporter of Mr Fox and the Colonists-Americans, as I believe they like to be called? Having fought so loyally for the King, it seems a rather paradoxical stance to take."

"Some would even say traitorous," Ewan said bitterly.

"Not I," Isabella said firmly.

He looked at her searchingly. "Thank you for that."

Silence reigned for a few moments and Isabella held her breath, aware that the matter was important to him and deeply personal.

"I suppose it started at Bunker Hill," Ewan said in a low voice. "I was just twenty, too young to question why I was there, nor to doubt that I was fighting on the right side. We won, but it was a pyrrhic victory, the casualties were severe. You can have no idea how..."

His grim expression bore testimony to the dark memories crowding his mind. Isabella took his hand.

"Anyway," Ewan continued, "it was horrible for both sides. And that's when I began to realise it was wrong, too. We British were the trespa.s.sers, the usurpers. I realised that, but I could not do anything about it. Soldiering was my life. Loyalty to my colonel unquestioning, even if I did question the cause. Then our old enemies the French joined the Americans, and confused the issue. It was only years later, after Was.h.i.+ngton took our surrender in Yorktown, that I had time to sort out my feelings. And only when I left the army could I speak my mind without being disloyal."

"You certainly did speak your mind," Isabella said, remembering that even her father had called Ewan a turncoat.

Ewan shrugged. "Much good it did. I was cut by a number of my comrades. I featured in one of Mr Gillray's caricatures as a wild Scotsman in a kilt, and now Fox looks like he'll be stuck in opposition to Mr Pitt for the rest of his life."

"Have you no desire to take a more active part in politics?" she asked curiously.

Ewan shook his head. "Words and posturing are not for me."

The ormolu clock interrupted their conversation by striking five, taking them both by surprise.

"We should take the opportunity to rest before dinner," Ewan said with a wicked glint in his eye. "With any luck it's going to be an eventful night."

A frisson of pure antic.i.p.ation coursed through Isabella's veins. What would the fates have in store for her this time?

Chapter Four.

Belle dressed simply for dinner in a gown of pale green muslin worn open over a white slip, the sleeves tight to her elbows, below which the ruffles of her chemise billowed. Green ribbon formed a sash around her waist, and was also tied artfully into her hair, one long ebony curl allowed to trail over her shoulder. She studied her reflection in the long mirror with satisfaction. Au natural, a veritable milk-maid in the style made popular by Queen Marie-Antoinette. With a frisson of excitement she headed downstairs to the dining room. Whether she won or lost, she was determined to have Ewan in a fever of wanting.

He was different in the candlelight. Less approachable in his dark evening clothes. More self-contained. She felt a quiver of apprehension. Or was it some less admissible emotion?

They sat adjacent to each other at the oval table. Ewan dispensed with the servants and served her himself. She took claret, he burgundy. Roast woodc.o.c.k met with her approval. Expertly, he carved the game bird and placed a portion on Isabella's plate.

White teeth nibbling on the tender meat. Fingers first licked, then sucked clean, one by one. A luscious mouth dabbed delicately with the table linen. A glimpse of pink tongue. Ewan s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably against the high back of his chair, feeling himself stiffen against his breeches. He could not but help imagining her mouth on him. Licking. Sucking.

"What have you in mind for me if you win again tonight?" she asked, fixing him with her gaze.

He grinned. "It does not do to depend upon winning, for that way disappointment lies."

"So you would be disappointed if I win," she teased.

"I would not be the only one."

"Sir, you flatter yourself."

A hand grasped her firmly by the chin. "At least I am honest with myself, Belle. I want you. If I win the throw I will have you, and you will be willing. But if you win, what then? 'Twill be a frustrating night, for you will spite us both."

She pulled back, anger sparking in her eyes, not wanting to hear the uncomfortable truth. "For you perhaps. I told you earlier, you have already served your purpose for me." She pushed back her chair impatiently. "Come, let us settle it at once then, since you are so clearly unable to wait."

Ewan laughed softly and followed her wordlessly upstairs to the small saloon where the dice box lay waiting on the table.

Isabella looked blankly at the dice when they stopped rolling. "It seems you have won, Captain Dalgleish. Once again, I am at your disposal. What would you have me do this time?"

"Come here, Belle." He could see her breathing through the thin muslin of her dress. A long curl, glossy black, trailed down over the white skin of her neck. So lovely.

She stepped closer. He smelled of clean linen and soap, a hint of wine on his breath. She looked up, found his lips close, felt his breath warm on her cheek, an arm snaking round the ribbon at her waist. She could feel her nipples harden against the cotton of her chemise. Wanting flared in her, a need she had not known until yesterday and which since then had stubbornly refused to subside.

Her wrists were captured, tugged tight behind her back. She was pressed close to him, chest to chest, so close she could feel the b.u.t.tons of his coat digging into her. His smile was cruel but she was not frightened.

"So I have served my purpose have I? You do not dispense with me so easily, Belle. I will make you ache for me."

His words served to boost her determination to deny him. "You may try, but you will not succeed," she said with a taunting smile. "There is nothing singular about you, Captain Dalgleish. What you can give me, I don't doubt I could have from any other man of my acquaintance. You said as much yourself."

"As I also pointed out, you chose to wait for me," he reminded her. Her wrists were released abruptly. Ewan strode over to the door of the saloon. The lock clicked home.

He moved purposefully towards her. "Turn around."