Sunrise with a Notorious Lord (17 page)

Lightning flashed overhead.

“Isabel!”

An unflattering yelp escaped her lips as firm, rough hands seized her by the shoulders and spun her around. Hatless, Vane was scowling at her.

“Only a madwoman would wander out into the night in the middle of a thunderstorm!” he yelled to be heard over the wind.

“What concern is it of yours, Lord Vanewright?” she sneered, attempting to push him away. “Go back indoors!”

Back to Delia.

“Tell me what is wrong. I will fix it if I can.”

Even under the dim lamplight of the nearby coaches, Isabel could see the sincerity in Vane’s face.

She swiped at the wetness on her cheek, praying he would mistake it for rain. “There is nothing for you to fix. Everything is as it should be,” Isabel said, striving for the calm that always eluded her whenever she was around him. For better or worse, Vane had a bad habit of tilting the axis of the life she had built for herself. “Just go.”

The wind caught the some of her hair and whipped the strands about, nearly blinding her. Vane closed the space between them and smoothed the offending wisps away from her eyes.

“It was the kiss,” he said bluntly. “What were you doing? Spying on us?” He cursed under his breath. The coarse vulgarity directed at her made her cheeks burn in shame.

“Of course not!” she replied, outraged by the mere suggestion that such a reprehensible purpose had brought her to that door. “I had spotted Lord Botly in the crowd, and I wanted to warn Delia,” she lied. “When I went searching for her, I did not expect”—the lump in her throat seemed to double in size—“I did not mean to eavesdrop. Not precisely. I felt awkward, and did not know what to do, particularly when I saw you and my sister…” She trailed off, unable to finish.

Vane tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. The gesture was absent, almost tender. “You saw Botly. Did he approach you?”

“Later, when I—he asked me if I was Miss Thorne. I told him that I was Circe and slipped away before he could question me further.”

The rain was becoming a nuisance. Isabel reached back and tugged the hood of her cloak over her head. Her elegant coiffure was ruined. All she wanted to do was crawl into her bed and never leave it. In the coming years, Delia and Vane could bring their children to visit their bedridden spinster aunt.

“You ran from me.”

The steady intensity of his eyes flustered her. “N-no.”

“It upset you to see me and Delia kissing.”

Was he deliberately being cruel? Her heart was ripped from her chest when she saw them kissing. Sheer tenacity and pride kept her from dissolving into tears. “Not at all. In fact, I am very happy for you both.”

The blackguard had the audacity to grin at her. “How many times do I have to tell you that you are an atrocious liar, Isabel? Admit it. You wanted to slap my face for kissing Delia.”

Isabel gritted her teeth. “Calling me a liar gives me reason enough, Lord Vanewright.”

She squeaked as he backed her up against the side of the waiting coach, his body sheltering her from the elements and preventing her from escaping. “If you do not have the sense to return to the ball, then I shall. Move aside!”

“Poor little Isabel. How much did you glimpse through the narrow gap of the door? What did your sharp dainty ears overhear? Did you see me put my wicked hands on Delia? See me pull her against my aroused body, caress her tempting lips with my mouth? Did you feel a flutter of excitement in your own belly because you knew exactly what it felt like to have my—”

“Yes! I saw it all and I am sorrier than you will ever know. There … are you happy?” She pushed against his chest, but somehow her frantic efforts to escape only brought him closer. The warmth of his body seeped into her, taking away the chilly dampness of the stormy night. “P-please, I beg of you. Just let me go.”

Vane startled her by giving her a vigorous shake. “Either you weren’t paying attention or you might want to consider a good pair of spectacles, Isabel. You did not see me kissing Delia.”

Her lips trembled with fury. “Now who is the liar? I saw
you
—”

“No! You saw Delia kissing
me
!” he shouted at her. “Your clever brain took snippets of a conversation and glimpses of supposed misdeeds, and wove it all into a tragic tale of love lost worthy of Shakespeare.”

“I know what I saw,” she said, though there was little conviction in her voice.

“Heed me, Isabel Thorne, for I will only say this once. Delia followed me into the informal parlor with the purpose of discussing my attentions to you. When I refused to speak of our friendship, she decided to twist the meaning of my words and concluded that my interest in the Thorne sisters was because of
her
. Before I had a chance to deny it, your sister had wrapped herself around me like a choking vine and you were running down the passageway, convinced I was the worst kind of scoundrel.”

Was it possible that Vane was telling the truth?

The pain in her heart eased at the glimmer of hope his confession had given her. “I thought—” Isabel shook her head, ashamed by her behavior. “You were right to call me a madwoman. I should have stayed and demanded an explanation.”

And slapped his face for good measure!

Deducing her thoughts, Vane’s lips twitched. He placed his finger against her lower lip. “Hush.”

Oblivious to the discomfort of the rain or their surroundings, he stroked her lip, the gesture igniting every nerve in her body as if she had been struck by lightning.

“Now pay attention. I do not want any misunderstanding between us,” he said, his eyes dark and wild as the sea in a summer storm. “A lady filled my thoughts all evening, but it wasn’t Delia whom I longed to drag into my arms and kiss until she was warm and adoringly befuddled. It was you, Isabel.”

His admission staggered her. “No, it cannot be true.”

“Stubborn woman,” he admonished softly. The teasing, almost husky quality of his voice should have warned her that her denials were mild hindrances to a man such as Vane. “How can I prove myself to you?”

“There is no need—”

Vane lowered his head and kissed her.

Chapter Twenty

She tasted of tears and rain.

Vane had been longing to put his hands on Isabel ever since he’d observed her grand entrance as Circe, complete with a tethered pig waddling along at her heels. Although Isabel would deny it, she was charming the
ton
with her beauty, quiet nature, and subtle wit. Lord Fiddick was probably still regaling everyone about Miss Thorne’s offer to change any of his disagreeable guests into pigs. When she presented the small pig as a gift to the earl and his wife, Lord Fiddick laughed so hard his face turned an alarming crimson hue.

Fiddick and the
ton
were not the only ones under Isabel’s spell.

With each meeting, Vane craved more from the lady. Dances and stolen kisses had whetted his appetite and imagination. There were nights when all he could think about before exhaustion claimed him was Isabel. He hungered for her caress, the softness of her lips, the shy awareness that crept in her expression when she sensed the desire he often tried to conceal from her.

Satisfied that the storm had chased away even the most daring, Vane pressed Isabel against the wall of the coach and deepened their kiss. The kiss Delia had given him might have appeared pleasurable, but he had felt nothing—that was, until he realized that Isabel had stumbled across them. Then he was bloody furious. Delia was an obvious little minx. He should have guessed her intentions the moment she entered the room.

Kissing Isabel was different.

She was sunshine and innocence, and coaxing shy endearing kisses from her filled him with a tenderness that he thought he was incapable of giving to anyone.

Isabel also maddened him with a wild, hot-blooded animal lust.

Vane had lost count of how many times that he wanted to forget that she belonged to someone else and toss her over his shoulder. If she would have him, he would carry her off and keep her in his bed until the fever in his loins cooled.

Isabel made a soft breathy sound against Vane’s cheek as his lips nibbled their way down to her bare neck. It was such a lovely neck, he silently mused, wondering if she would allow him to buy her a diamond necklace. Paste would not do for Isabel Thorne.

His hand slid possessively around her waist. “Damn your
almost
betrothed circumstances. The gent doesn’t exist here in London. Come away with me,” he said, nipping her neck.

Thunder rumbled overhead.

“What?” she asked, sounding bemused. “Delia—”

Vane pulled back, and cupped her face with his gloved hands. “You were already planning to abandon Delia,” he said, kissing her again because he preferred to keep her off balance. If Isabel had little thought for the man who desired her hand in marriage, the man was less than nothing to Vane. “Let us leave. Now.”

He wanted to take his time when he peeled her out of her damp garments. She deserved a proper bed, not a careless shag against the coach.

Her brown eyes were large and luminous. “How can we? No, it is too reckless!”

“We have the rest of our lives to embrace our responsibilities.” Vane could tell by her frown that she was considering his wicked proposition.

“But—”

Vane sealed off her words with a lingering kiss. With a gentle touch of his fingers, her lips parted and his tongue slid over her lower teeth. Proud of the lovemaking skills he had honed at a young age, he teased and tempted her without words.

If that did not work, he was desperate enough to beg.

“Say yes.”

His heart was caught in his throat when Isabel remained quiet. Then she began to nod. It took him a moment to grasp that she was agreeing to come with him.

“Yes.”

Isabel offered him the shy, brilliant smile that always managed to bring his cock to life.

Vane pounded on the side of the coach. “Maston, are you awake?”

“Not likely sleeping with all this rain trickling down my back” was the coachman’s gruff reply.

Wide-eyed, Isabel glanced warily up at the man who had been sitting silently on his perch. Clearly she hadn’t even noticed that they weren’t alone—something for which Vane would gladly reward Maston with a cask of porter.

“This is
your
coach.”

“Indeed.” With his hand firmly around her waist, Vane guided her forward until he could open the door. “No need for you to climb down, Maston. I have the door.”

“’Bout time, I say,” the older man grumbled. “I couldn’t decide if you were kissing or drowning the lass.”

Before Isabel could reconsider, Vane nudged her into the interior. Exchanging rakish grins with Maston, he slapped the side of the coach and said, “Take us home.”

*   *   *

Whisked away into the night by a handsome rogue, while overhead the heavens roiled with lightning and thunder. Isabel could not imagine anything more daring or romantic.

Vane did not give her much time to dwell on her decision. Within the dark confines of the coach, he seduced her with his mouth and hands. He whispered dark carnal promises in her ears, and she stroked the proof of his desire. The short journey ended before she had caught her breath. Her legs were so weak with the need he had built within her, Isabel had to lean on him as they made their way to his house.

There was no opportunity to explore his residence. The servants had already retired for the night, and Vane explained in hushed tones that his younger sister had moved into his house while his older sister and her family invaded the Netherley town house.

The thought of encountering one of his sisters doused some of her ardor. Sensing her dismay, Vane quickly explained that his sister was still out enjoying her evening and would be gone for hours. Then he led her up to his bedchamber.

Isabel was too nervous about being discovered to resist.

Before they reached the bedchamber, he surprised her by backing her up into a small alcove. Vane brought his finger to his lips to silence any questions. He brushed her lips with a brief kiss and disappeared down the passageway.

Isabel closed her eyes and listened to Vane’s footfalls. A door opened, and Vane greeted another man, though she could not hear what was being said. Most likely, it was his valet, who had been waiting up for his master. After the servant was dismissed, Vane returned to her side.

“Poor little love,” he crooned, pulling her into his arms. “Too much adventure, eh? I did not mean to leave you so long, but I forgot about my valet. I normally do not have late-night visitors, so Cheswick is rather distressed that I will not be requiring his services this evening.” He took her by the hand, and they walked down the passageway.

His revelation was so unexpected she had the oddest urge to laugh. If half the rumors about the Lords of Vice were to be believed, one would expect Vane to keep a veritable harem in his house. Isabel had not been wrong about the earl’s character. Joy took wing in her heart as she realized that she was the first lady he had allowed to invade his private world.

Vane opened the door to his private bedchamber, and beckoned her to enter. Once she stepped into the room, he closed the door and locked it, ensuring that they would not be disturbed.

“Are you cold?” he asked as he briskly moved about his bedchamber to light a few candles and then crouched down in front of the hearth to tend to the coals.

Isabel glanced at the windows as thunder ominously rattled the glass panes.

“Not really.” Even though her hair was still damp, her cloak and Vane had kept most of the rain from soaking into her evening dress. He had removed her sodden garment the minute she had stepped into the front hall.

“A little brandy will warm you,” Vane said, glancing back over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “And naturally you have me.”

“Naturally,” she echoed, uncertain of his meaning.