A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(31)

He was temptation incarnate, and she was giving in.

At last.

At last.

Toby thumbed her hardened nipple again, groaning into her mouth. How long had he been aching to hold these magnificent br**sts? Since the evening they met—weeks now, months. An eternity. God, how marvelously she filled his hand, the warm, soft flesh overflowing his cupped fingers. Desire pounded in his blood. He longed to push her back into the upholstery, wrench her free of this thin muslin bodice, and fasten his lips around the taut bud of her nipple. She would taste so good. These mewling, erotic noises she now made into his mouth … she would make them aloud. Just the thought of it drove him into a frenzy. He’d missed her, more than he could have expected. The need gripped him, to join with her—

to carve out a home for himself in all that lush, generous femininity and never, ever leave. And though some fragment of reason in his melting brain insisted that there was no damned way he could deflower Isabel right here, right now, on her sitting room settee … a distinctly baser portion of him quite desperately wanted to try.

She was his, after all. She was marrying him in a matter of days, no matter what her brother said. The wedding must go on as planned. Those had been her words. The surge of triumphant pride only fueled his desire. He kneaded her breast greedily, relishing the way she arched into his touch, denying him nothing. Finally, she was responding to him—not his forbearance with beggars or his philanthropic largesse. At last, here was that passion he’d glimpsed at their very first meeting, all that pent-up emotion she buried under selfless good works. She might hide it from the world, even from herself. But she couldn’t hide it from him. He had won her. She was his.

She would be his wife.

And … and damned if he would steal her innocence like a thief. Not when she would soon belong to him, by rights.

With great reluctance, Toby marshaled his will and released her breast. Framing her face in his palms, he gently pulled her away. Her labored breaths raced his. Resting his forehead against her lovely brow, he whispered, “Darling, I’m sorry. We really should stop.”

He saw the flush of guilt creeping up her face.

“I know, I know,” she said. “It’s wrong. I know it, but…” She chewed her lip. “You make me want to do things I know I shouldn’t.”

With a soft laugh, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “Funny, isn’t it? You make me want to do the things I’ve always known I should.”

“Shall we suit one another, do you think?”

“Splendidly.” And he meant it. The past few minutes had banished any of his concerns about their compatibility. During that kiss, they had suited one another to the ground. He couldn’t resist stealing one more. And then another. Nuzzling her ear, he murmured, “It’s a fortunate thing we’re getting married soon.”

“Oh, yes.” She straightened and inched away, putting distance between them. Passion had been put aside, and her typically placid demeanor had returned. “We couldn’t possibly wait any longer. I only wish we could marry today. I hope the timing of the wedding won’t interfere with your campaign.”

Toby blinked. “My … my campaign.”

“What a shame, that we’ll have to postpone the honeymoon. But I expect the Lake District will be just as lovely in August as it would have been in July.”

“Postpone the honeymoon? What on earth are you talking about?” Brushing a finger across the tip of her nose, he joked, “Isabel, perhaps that fever affected you more seriously than we thought.”

She went rigid, instantly. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing,” he soothed. “Nothing at all.” He slid his fingertip along her jaw. “But my word, you’re so beautiful when you take offense. I’m the one who’s addled, darling. I don’t seem to be following you. Take pity on a besotted fool and explain it again, a little more slowly.”

Smiling again, she pulled a newspaper from the table beside her and held it out to him.

“Haven’t you heard? The Prince Regent is expected to dissolve Parliament tomorrow. It’s in all the newspapers. Polling will begin within a few weeks.”

Toby stared at the newspaper she’d handed him, trying in vain to form a response. She couldn’t possibly be serious. Isabel laid a hand on his sleeve, and his gaze jerked up to hers.

“Isn’t it perfect?” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “Our grand wedding, followed so closely by your candidacy? We’re certain to be the talk of London, if not all England. At last, you’ll have your place in the House of Commons, and I’ll be …” She blushed and dropped her eyes. “I’ll be your wife. I’ll be Lady Aldridge.”

Good God. She was serious. She expected him to postpone their honeymoon and run for Parliament in a few weeks. Toby, on the other hand, had no wish to run for Parliament in a few weeks. Nor in a few years, for that matter. Not when he’d successfully invested a decade in avoiding that very task.

“Darling, there’s no need to be in a hurry. Governments come and go. Our wedding will only happen once. Let’s enjoy our honeymoon, and then I can run for Parliament the next time there’s an election called.”

“But that will be years from now.”

Yes, precisely.

“Besides,” he continued, “you’ve been ill. You need rest, not the strain of a political campaign.”