Izzy felt heat creep up her face, certain she was red from her chin to her forehead. Thankfully, Charles wouldn't be able to see her clearly in the darkness. As if using her last breath to utter the words, she whispered, "Yes, Charles, I feel the same."
As quick as lightning, Charles pulled her onto his lap, holding her in a tight, strong embrace. His lips claimed hers, devouring her with his want. This was no chaste kiss, as the one before the ball. This was pure male need. She wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair. His breath, hot on her lips, warmed the rest of her body, though the air outside was frigid. In the darkness, she gasped as his fingers massaged beneath her collarbone. His hand drifted lower, pausing at the lace of her low neckline.
The carriage bounced and slowed. This time, Charles didn't release her as when they'd pulled up in front of the ball.
Izzy leaned away. "Charles, the driver…"
He pulled her close. "I've paid him well. He'll not speak of it."
She buried her face in his neck.
He whispered into her hair. "You're uncomfortable."
Izzy nodded.
"Come, then. Let's go inside."
He helped her down from the carriage, never letting his hand leave at least one part of her. She felt his warmth either on her back or shoulders the whole walk to the door. As they passed the driver, Izzy ducked her head. Maybe the driver wouldn't say anything, but he'd heard, and possibly even seen things. Private things.
Charles had Izzy wait on the porch until he made sure no one was in the lobby or den. They still needed to keep her hidden from view. She darted a glance up when the hinges of the door squeaked as he reopened it.
"It's safe. I see no one about." He stretched out his hand, inviting her in. "Let's get you to your room."
She giggled. "My room. It's not as if I'm—"
He leaned toward her, looking as if the weight of the universe bore down on him. "Staying? Oh, Isabella. I wish you were staying. We could—"
Izzy heard a shuffle from somewhere in the back of the house. She grabbed his arm. "What was that?"
He pivoted and stood motionless, listening. Something shuffled again. Charles took her hand again and gave her a slight tug. "Up the stairs, quickly. Someone is coming."
Holding her skirt above the steep steps with her other hand was difficult enough, but trying to run in it as well seemed downright dangerous. What if she got tangled up in all the folds of the hem and took a tumble? Then everyone would definitely know she was here. It would be hard to explain a strange woman lying at the foot of the stairs with two broken legs and her skirt hiked up over her head.
Izzy released a large gulp of air when they made it unscathed to the top. When she hurried toward her bedroom, she almost collided with Charles when he stopped to open the door. Polished floors could be deadly to a woman wearing slippers.
"Hurry inside."
They slipped inside the room and Charles pushed the door shut with a soft click. Both breathed sighs of relief while trying to catch their breath. Izzy giggled.
The corners of his mouth turned up. "What's amusing, my dear Isabella?"
"Just thinking of us skulking around your house. I feel like a spy."
"Do you now? He grinned. "And just what would a spy do in her bedroom with another spy?"
It was at that moment Izzy realized her situation. Here she was in her bedroom, alone with Charles, and a great big bed stood behind them. They'd been alone before, but Sarah had always been their lookout, never being far away. Now, though it was just the two of them. Well, three, if Izzy counted the bed. And yes, she was counting the bed.
She took a step back, away from the gorgeous duke. "Um, Charles, maybe we should—"
He stepped forward. "Oh, yes, I definitely think we should."
She took another step back. "No, no I didn't mean—"
He stepped toward her. "Are you quite sure? I seem to remember you saying…"
Taking another half step back, she put her hands on his chest, pushing him. "Saying what? I didn't—"
He grasped her hands, which were still on his chest. His eyes darkened. Izzy's mouth went dry, as her gaze lowered to his lips. She knew how he kissed, knew what his lips tasted like. But they shouldn't. They couldn't…
Stepping backward again, her skirt swished against something hard. Oh no. The bed. She glanced behind her. Sure enough, the huge bed sat there, waiting. She swallowed. "I uh—"
He moved closer to her until there wasn't any air between their chests and legs. Suddenly, she felt lightheaded. What had she gotten herself in to? As his lips lowered to hers, her last coherent thought was, hopefully no one will ever find out what we've done.
Chapter Eight