Page 29 of The Duke's Improper Bride
Nora tipped her chin and drew his lips to hers, her hands reaching beneath his arms and back over his shoulders to draw him nearer. “Please.”
He let out a low chuckle. “I don’t know…well, I promise this will be the first time of many, but I just don’t know how much longer I can wait.”
She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but before she could guess, he moved his hips. Slowly, he built a steady rhythm that ate away the initial hurt. Nora craved more, that familiar feeling from earlier buzzing through her limbs.
Each stroke drew out a moan from her.
“Nora,” Isaac said, his voice breaking. “Dear God, how amazing you feel. I’m so close.”
He quickened, thrusting harder until at last he threw his head back, tensing above and within her. For a moment, all was quiet, the air smelling of rose oil and sex and perfection and happiness.
Slowly, he withdrew, trailing kisses over Nora’s face and neck. Isaac rolled over beside her, pulling her to him. He stroked her back as she rested. His chest, rising and falling like the stormy Talisker Bay.
“Perfect,” she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head. “Hmm.”
Chapter 8
Scotland was behind them, and Nora suspected those stolen hours together with Isaac had been a dream. Maybe they were, for her husband had been sweet and kind and caring, but now in London, Isaac seemed just beyond her reach. And their new home, the palatial townhouse known as Ainsley House, was equally prodigious as unwelcoming.
The footman carried in her trunks, and Nora was introduced to the housekeeper, who had warmly embraced Isaac upon entering the household.
As Nora stood apart from the jovial chaos, apprehension swept over her. The ceilings of Ainsley House were tall, the paintings and woodwork, dark. It made her feel small, and it made her husband, only a few yards away, feel as if he were worlds away.
He turned to her and smiled, waving his arm before he bowed. “Welcome home, duchess.”
She swallowed, the knot in her throat unyielding.
Perhaps it was she who need to change. This was all an adjustment, that was all it was, she told herself, aiming to quell her nerves.
Nora bowed her head with a flirtatious smile. “Your Grace.”
At first, Isaac grinned, then his features settled and something else washed across his face. “Please don’t address me so formally. Your Grace was my father, he was the Duke. I’m his son.”
Hurt and sadness filled his eyes. “It must be hard,” she said.
Isaac stared at the floor, scratching his head before he took a few steps and gazed out of the window. Mayfair was magnificent—everything she had read about in novels.
“He was a good man.”
“I know,” she said softly, bracing her hand over her middle.
Nora preferred Scotland. She preferred the bliss they had found in the marriage bed—and beyond. The thought caused her to blush for a moment. Who knew a dining table could be so serviceable beyond hosting dinner? Or the garden bench. Or that one time in the hallway closet.
He snapped his head up to meet her stare. “He’s not…”
“I married his son.” She reached for Isaac’s hands and wrapped hers in his. “You’re a good man, Isaac Barnes. And I’ll c-call you whatever you’d like.”
“Will you kiss me whenever I’d like?”
“Depends.”
He drew her closer. “If I ask nicely?”
“Depends,” she said coyly, nipping her bottom lip.
Isaac groaned, hauling her against him. “Do that again, Mrs. Barnes.”
