Page 70 of A Night of Forever
She seized hold of the fire that blazed within his eyes and let the hungry pleasure fill her. His face went hard and his shoulders strained as he held himself over her. A glorious warmth spread through her limbs as the flame of desire turned into a raging inferno.
“Don’t hold back,” Arend whispered hoarsely. “Let me hear your cries.”
Only then did she realize the wanton sounds of urgency and need that filled the dimly lit bedchamber were of her making.
She tried to hold his gaze, loving the desire and need she saw there, but she could not. When the shattering climax caught her, when its power swept her up in a crescendo of brilliant stars, her eyes went blind. Her limbs strained, went taut, and she choked back a sob at the intensity of her release, at the emotions tearing in her breast.
“Si pure, si belle,”Arend groaned. His body convulsed with explosive passion, and he pulled out of her body to empty his seed over her stomach in shuddering pulses. When he was finished, he gave one last groan and dropped down beside her on his stomach.
Isobel couldn’t get her thoughts together. Never had she expected sex to be so moving, so emotional. Now she knew why some called it “making love.” She’d poured her heart into this joining. She just wished she had enough experience to know if Arend had done so too. Or was her euphoria simply because this was her first time and she was overwhelmed by the sensations?
He lay on his stomach beside her, his breathing still ragged, while she reclined next to him on the bed, running her hands over his back, stroking him, willing him to say how amazing the experience had been.
As her hand swept the top of his buttocks she felt a roughness beneath her fingers. Her fingers traced around the mark in circles as she tried to make it out. It appeared to be a circle, which was strange. A perfect scar.
“What is this strange mark?” she said, and lightly touched the scar.
Under her hand, his muscles spasmed. Then, with a violent oath, he rolled over onto his back as if it were on fire and he needed to smother the flames.
“Don’t touch it,” he growled, and then lunged off the bed and away from her as if the devil were after him.
For what seemed like forever, he paced the floor, gloriously naked, running a hand over his face and muttering in French.
Then he stopped. Straightened his shoulders. “This,” he said in a voice like ice, “was a mistake. Dress. I will see you home.”
Her heart plummeted at the coldness of his tone. What had happened? Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? But how was she to know he’d be so sensitive about a scar?
His silence shredded and tore at her like a blunt knife as he pulled on his own clothes and then helped her dress. All the progress they’d made, all she’d hoped for from that night, disappeared. They were more estranged than before.
All because of a little scar.
Chapter 15
After a sleepless night filled with self-loathing, Arend finally managed to drag himself downstairs. No matter how he felt, he, Maitland, and Isobel had an appointment to visit the bank. There was no way he could excuse himself from the meeting, but God knew how he was going to face Isobel.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Too deep in his own thoughts, Arend could barely summon up the effort to acknowledge Jeeves’s greeting. What the hell was wrong with him? What kind of man—after a woman had gifted him with the most memorable and special night of his life—practically threw her out of his bed and his house?
The butler cleared his throat. “Please assure Lady Isobel that the staff are ready to make any changes she wishes.”
After last night, the only thing Lady Isobel probably wanted was to castrate him. “I’m not sure that the staff should set their hopes on Lady Isobel’s continuing our engagement.”
Jeeves’s face expressed a blend of distress, compassion, and hope before signaling the disapproval of an old servant with special privileges.
“I hope you have done nothing to upset such a lovely lady, my lord. She would make a wonderful Lady Labourd.”
There was nothing Arend could say that would not make him either a liar or a lout, so he gave a terse nod of acknowledgment and continued out of the house.
He’d done more than upset Isobel. But what choice had he? His past could not see the light of day; if it did, he might lose everything.
Isobel had asked the one question he could not face. How could he tell her the brand seared into his flesh was Juliette’s way of proclaiming her ownership of his body and soul? Until the day he died he would carry a physical reminder of what he had become.
—
Arend’s carriage had scarcely drawn to a halt in front of Maitland’s home before both the Duke and Isobel were descending the steps to meet him.
Isobel, to his surprise, was neither coldly polite nor withdrawn. She even gave him a tentative smile. He merely nodded in reply, shame knotting in his gut and freezing it solid. The distance between them was for the best.
