To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (16 page)

She advanced a short way along the slates before Constantine stepped from the shadows and clasped her hand in a tight grip.

‘Good girl. Now come this way.’

‘I have little choice.’ She doubted he heard her grumbled objection. Meanwhile her heart beat a frantic tattoo as she allowed herself to be led deeper into Lady Stanton’s extravagant gardens by a man who believed she met him by request.

They wandered through a few turns, past ivy covered trestles and an elaborate fountain, then further down the path until Isabelle could not contain her curiosity a minute longer. ‘Are you sure we are going the right way?’

He paused mid-step and glanced over his shoulder. A sheepish grin curled the corner of his mouth.

‘Oh.’ Her curt reply spurred him back into motion and she glanced down to where he held her, desperate to keep pace as they proceeded deeper into the garden landscape. Her hand looked small and delicate within his strong grasp and a sense of belonging, of possessive intimacy, swept through her heart and drummed her pulse with a delicious beat.

He slowed his steps and while she caught her breath, Isabelle saw they stood in a secluded clearing, encircled by honeysuckle, delphiniums and an abundance of roses. The fragrance smelled heavenly and she sighed in appreciation.

‘You are breathtaking.’ Con released her hand and gazed into her eyes. His voice, barely a whisper, spoke straight to her heart and riverlets of pleasure flowed through every part of her. Earlier in the evening she’d viewed the cream of the haute ton and wondered how she ever thought to compete with their appeal. Now, with his words, she was most especially complimented. It was significant to be wanted by anyone, never mind a man who kept London in his pocket. The man before her knew what he wanted, who he wanted. And now, he’d chosen her. The realisation intensified and she absorbed the euphoric feeling.

Before she could object, he removed her hair comb and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. Then he stepped behind her and threaded his fingers through the lengths, his voice a soft murmur. ‘You are a vision of beauty.’ He moved in front of her and placed a fingertip under her chin, looking daringly statuesque against the dimly lit backdrop of flora. ‘Kiss me, Isabelle.’

She pursed her lips, desire at war with the better sense that reminded her he surely visited these gardens often. ‘Do you always achieve what you want through use of your charm?’

She watched him in the reflected lantern light. His eyes, better suited for the bedroom than the ballroom, sparkled with seductive promise while the husky longing in his voice seduced her, her resolve too weak not to do something foolish.

‘Absolutely not.’ He offered her a cheeky grin. ‘But we are here in the inviting privacy of Lady Stanton’s gardens so why waste this opportunity. Milady, will you dance with me?’

Isabelle, ever pragmatic, knew she ventured down a dangerous path and the inevitable confrontation once she rejoined Meredith would not be pleasant. However the rare and precious feeling of being held in Constantine’s arms caused any objection to evaporate into the cool night air. And true, she wanted to feel his mouth take hers more than she’d ever admit. Just one kiss, she promised herself, one small adventure.

She paused to remove her gloves and placed them on the edge of a marble planter, her intent to touch his sable silk hair in command of her attention.

‘That’s better.’ His strong hands traced over her arms and brought her into proper frame. ‘I am still offended you did not save me a waltz.’

‘You are not,’ she quipped, the notion inconceivable.

He led her through the steps as smoothly as he’d removed her hair comb and coaxed her to fall into the graceful rhythm. She did so with an open heart. It was as though someone had torn a page from her innermost fantasies: to be waltzing with a breathtakingly handsome earl under a sky filled with stars in a secluded garden, the fragrance of flowers in the air. And by walking into her dream, she was more alive than ever before.

The faintest note of the orchestra could be heard. They circled the slate-covered clearing and with each turn the dance became more mesmerising, more intimate, as it wound them in its spell. Somehow their bodies grew closer, an inhale’s width apart, and an unexplained pull drew them nearer until barely a whisper of air existed between the rustle of silk against velvet.

Isabelle grew acutely aware of every nuance concerning Constantine: the strong angle of his jaw, the reflected glimmer of moonlight in his hair, the shortened rise of his broad chest, as if he too, sensed the incredible magic that built between them as they continued to circle in silence, their bodies matched in perfect unison.

She was dizzy from the dance, heady from the feelings in her heart that swirled within her in a whirlwind of euphoric sensations.

She needed to speak, employ conversation, because she hoped small talk would help her regain her mental footing. But her mind was crowded with so many wondrous sensations, she simply spoke the truth. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Say anything you like.’

He looked at her, his gaze shadowed by dark lashes, and she worried he’d think her attempt at conversation inept. ‘I suspect by your standards, anything I might say would be considered boring.’

His eyes narrowed, as if he thought her insane. ‘You are definitely not boring.’ He leaned closer, his words hot against her cheek. ‘At least not to me.’

He held her hand in a firm grasp and she shivered as the pad of his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist to feather her pulse in the gentlest caress, the soothing effect at odds with the erratic beat of her heart. It must be the exertion of the dance.

They rounded a turn and he slowed beside a wrought-iron bench.

‘Lady Stanton thinks of everything.’ His voice was liquid temptation in the night air.

Their eyes fell to the blanketed bench nestled inside a secluded rose arbour. Several paper lanterns cast flickering light across the low seat. She could not restrain a nervous laugh. ‘It would be foolish for me to believe you surprised.’

He smiled and his eyes held a glint of mischief. ‘I pride myself on ingenuity.’

Their bodies became much closer and his trousers brushed against the skirt of her gown. The caress of the fabric against her bare skin aroused a spiral of heat in the deepest part of her that radiated to each of her nerve endings, the effect leaving her unbearably sensitive and exquisitely in tune to all of her senses.

He smelled divine. His shaving soap, a mixture of spice and sin, and the temptation of his warmth, inches from her body, made her breathing hitch, a decidedly unfortunate matter as every breath brought her breasts higher, the shortened corset proving useless.

No doubt Constantine noticed as well. Heat flooded her face and she shot him a look to measure each flash of emotion. He moved closer, the brush of his trousers against her thighs decidedly harder and an unfamiliar pride flooded her heart at the extent of his ardour.

His heated gaze met hers with unconcealed desire and when a seductive smile played at his mouth, her cheeks flushed deeper.

‘Just when I thought I wouldn’t last another season, along comes Isabelle to make it all interesting again.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry? For saving me from the relentless tedium?’

‘For interrupting the natural flow of your life.’

‘Oh, how it needed to be interrupted.’ A spark of passion lit his eyes and his nostrils flared, as if he barely contained his heated intentions.

Warm shivers danced upon her skin and she missed a step in their unhurried waltz. She swallowed a bit of nervous laughter as she looked to the ground. ‘My slipper. The ribbon is untied.’

They stood motionless. Their eyes locked and Isabelle remained trapped by a thread of delicious tension that drew her further into his embrace. Heart-first.

Another breath and then he released her, his fingers intertwined with hers before they parted. It was hardly a lingering caress, but deep, hot heat simmered like a spell, seeped into her soul and opened a well of longing she always believed she did not possess. Grateful the darkness concealed her emotions, she peeked her right foot from under her gown and took a seat on the blanket-covered bench to tie the loosened ribbon.

Chapter Twelve

Constantine’s eyes followed Isabelle as she slipped from his embrace. He could no longer escort her in innocent circles around the clearing when he wanted nothing more than to lower her to the bench and taste her petal soft skin. His body went hard the instant she laid her ungloved hand in his, her inquisitive gaze like silver moonlight. The remembrance of their last kiss still heated his blood. It drummed alive and vibrant and he never was so affected, so anxious, that the intensity of his desire shook him to the core. Not one to deny himself pleasure, he sat beside her on the bench and his eyes searched her face for any acknowledgement she desired the same.

Their lips met with feverish urgency and obliterated any notion she did not welcome his advance. The knowledge made him harder. He slid one hand behind her neck, through waves of silky soft hair and held her to him, while the other hand skimmed her luscious curves, the combination of textures – cool silk and heated skin – taunted his fingertips.

She tasted like champagne, and when his name slipped from her lips like sweet wine it intoxicated him with fervent need. He murmured appreciative whispers against her mouth and she trembled in his arms, so he pulled her even closer, the press of her deliciously soft breasts a reminder her entire body begged to be explored. His lips left her mouth and trailed kisses across her jaw. Her breathing came fast and hot against his ear, teasing like an erotic promise. His control slipped another notch and he shifted on the bench.

Her shoulders were bare, the design of the dress an elegant invitation to her creamy skin. He continued his exploration: down the lithe column of her neck, across the delicate slope of her collarbone and further below to dip his tongue into the crease of her breasts. His head swam with passion, his body controlled by the basest need, and still he wanted more. She moaned, soft and lovely in the evening air, and he stilled at the beautiful sound. He was not so far gone to forget her innocence. Then, at his hesitation, her kisses, nestled against his neck and ear, turned heated and persistent, her breathing, more anxious.

‘Isabelle…’

He couldn’t manage more than the single word and he trusted she understood it embodied everything he meant to express.

‘Yes?’ She panted against his neck and withdrew to look into his eyes. ‘Yes.’

Her voice coursed through him and settled in his groin. With one fluid movement he smoothed his palm downward over her décolleté to cover the shimmering fabric of her gown with the hot heat of his hand. Her nipple pebbled beneath the silk, tight for his attention and he moved the flat of his palm in small exquisite circles, an enticing dance of another kind.

He could only imagine the beauty beneath; lush breasts, deliciously tempting, pale and perfect, rosy tight buds aching for his touch. He tightened his caress. In the slightest movement, her body tensed, and her shoulders drew back as if she fought a strong emotion.

‘Oh God, Isabelle…’

‘I know…I’m sorry.’ She covered herself and her hands trembled in kind to her voice. ‘They are…’

‘Incredible.’ He raised her chin with a gentle nudge of his own and stared into her eyes, unwilling to break the enchanted spell that tightened around them in the darkness of the garden. ‘You are so beautiful.’

When she let out a shaky breath he caressed her cheek, his fingers tracing a line down her jaw. He took her hands and guided them to his shoulders. She leaned into his warmth and pressed a trembling kiss to the side of his neck. Her fingers tangled in the hair at his collar as if to anchor her to him or steady her quaking emotions.

He captured her mouth and his tongue mated against hers in smooth, sensual caresses. His fingers skimmed down the lovely arch of her bare shoulders, and across her bodice to discover the perfect handful of silk and breast. She gasped and he nipped her neck in answer, the smallest bite. He soothed the mark with his tongue, wanting more to devour her, but something held his desire in check.

She slid her fingers to the collar of his coat, further into his hair, and with lightning finesse he grasped her wrists and brought them to his chest, able to distract her with several deep pleasurable kisses.

He’d envisioned her enraptured a million times. How he burned to see her. Just a glimpse of her impassioned repose, but when he did, he groaned with his mistake. Isabelle’s beauty took his breath away. Her eyes had fallen closed, her lush mahogany lashes crushed against pink hued cheeks, the waves of her radiant hair fanned behind her. She embodied pure passion, as if she revealed her first discovery of sensual arousal within their stolen embrace. And Constantine was mesmerised.

He set his hands at the small of her back and captured her ever-tempting mouth with a low murmur that transformed into liquid heat. He needed her closer, the crush of silk soon lost in the smooth perfection of her skin. She arched against him and a whimper of supplication escaped, the muted sound rippled through the silent garden. His fingers tightened at her waist. Somewhere in his brain a dull warning sounded, but it was impossible to reason while his body overflowed with pleasure.

‘We should not…’ Her voice broke with emotion and logic penetrated the force of his passion. Blood burned in his veins and his yearning to have her was hardly satiated, but he managed to resurrect a shred of restraint. He respected Isabelle and cared for her too much to indulge his selfish desires and exploit her vulnerability. Damn his lack of control and her total innocence. The very idea that someone might take advantage of her turned his ardour into anger and the unexpected protective reaction caused him to wipe a palm across his jaw in an effort to clear his confusion.

With caution, Isabelle stood and righted her skirts. Her expression hinted of concern.

‘You have already been absent too long from the party. You should go.’ His husky words sounded too loud between them. Could she hear his reluctance?