I was asked very kindly if I would write a follow up to Wickets and Whites with Isobel and Richard going home. This is the result, not at all what I intended and probably not what they wanted. Any, and all, comments gratefully received.
A late night Assignation
While it was still warm, the sun having long since gone down, and the moon a silver crescent in the moon, it was late. More to the point Richard was late.
When Lord Grantham had suggested that they should have a drink or two to celebrate their victory, Richard had found himself without a good excuse to decline. Casting his gaze around the room his eyes had settled on Isobel, her face revealing her displeasure for all to see. He had shrugged, she had rolled her eyes and they had gone their separate ways. A few drinks had become many and instead of spending the evening with Isobel as they had planned he had spent the whole night in the Grantham Arms getting a little drunk with the men.
Now as he walked or rather staggered towards her house his thoughts drifted to the missed opportunity and what he might encounter when he finally knocked on her door. She would be annoyed at the very least, and there was also the possibility that she wouldn't let him in. He sincerely hoped not because the last thing he wanted to do was go home to his empty cottage when he could spend the hours till morning wrapped around her warm soft body.
"I am so very sorry," he mumbled, the apology already tripping from his tongue as she opened the door, her face fixed in a stony expression, her arms folded across her body.
"Are you drunk?" she asked flatly, and he knew then that it was going to take more than sorry to worm his way out of the doghouse.
He shook his head then, with a shrug and a small grin, held up two fingers an inch apart. "A little."
Isobel rolled her eyes, her body still blocking his entry into the house. "Go home, Richard."
Richard pulled a face, bordering on petulant. "But I don't want to."
"At this point it isn't really about what you want," she grumbled, tightening her arms around her middle. "I thought we were going to have a late supper."
He hated it when she looked so sad and very vulnerable, even more so when he was the cause of it. "I know and I would have been here but your cousin is very hard to say no to." Richard reached out an arm and lightly stroked her wrist with his fingers, swirling around her pulse point as he ducked his head to look at her. "But I'm here now and I really want to be here."
"Why don't you wait in the drawing room and I'll fetch us some coffee," she suggested with a heavy sigh, stepping back to allow him entry into her home before turning and heading down the hallway.
Inwardly he groaned, knowing that he was in the doghouse once again. It wasn't the first time, in fact it probably wasn't the hundred and first time, but it still wasn't easy to deal with. Feeling slightly deflated in the turn of events, especially after their afternoon of flirtation and his victory, he made his way into the drawing room, choosing to stand by the fireplace admiring the photographs she had accumulated over the years, rather than sit. Reverently, he picked up the newest photograph, the one taken at Matthews wedding, Matthew in his tails and Isobel the proud mother. She had looked beautiful that day and he had told her so as they waltzed their way around the dance floor. As always his appreciation had been kept to quiet compliments, only later had he revelled in her beauty.
"I made it as strong as I thought your stomach could handle," Isobel announced, her tone lighter than it had been a few moments earlier. She placed it on the coffee table and crossed to stand next to him. "I'm sorry if I seemed a little stand offish, it's just after this afternoon I was rather looking forward to this evening, to being able to . . .," she trailed off as he ran his knuckles gently along her jawline before leaning in to kiss her. The kiss deepened as she responded wholeheartedly to his lips against hers, his tongue working its way into her mouth, tangling with hers. As much as she wanted to stay mad at him, there really was nothing he could do that would prevent her finding her way back into his embrace.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell your cousin, and your son for that matter, that I needed to return home to my wanton woman." While his tone was teasing, and his eyes danced a little, they could not hide the truth behind his words – he could not share his desire to leave because no one knew that they were together.
She rolled her eyes, before leaning in to a second, deeper kiss.
"I'm so sorry," he said again, extracting his hands carefully from her hair where they had become tangled.
Isobel took his hands in hers, tracing the veins from his fingers to his wrist with her eyes, marvelling as she always did at their strength, his hands that saved lives, the long tapered fingers that brought her endless pleasure.
"Isobel?" he asked softly as she turned each hand over, examining each in turn, her fingertips almost tickling his palms as she continued her careful exploration of the lines that marked the life he had lived. "Isobel?" he asked again, tugging his hand from hers and tilting her chin up towards him.
"I was just ensuring that everything was in order, that they remain undamaged."
"And?"
She gazed up at him, her feelings clearly visible for him to see. "Perfect. Just perfect."
Richard allowed himself a small smile as he leaned in and gently kissed her again.
"Would you like some coffee?"
He shook his head, turning back to the photograph to the hearth. "I think what I really need is sleep."
"Sleep?" Although it had been a long day and she felt a little weary from being in the sun for so long, that wasn't exactly in her plans for the evening either. In fact her plan had been quite simple - ply him with good food and alcohol, encourage him out of his whites and get him to demonstrate his delicate hands. While someone else had supplied the alcohol, she couldn't see why the rest of her plan should be abandoned. Gently, she slid her hands around his waist and up over his chest, resting them over his heart as she pressed her head against his back.
"Would you still like me to leave?" he asked hesitantly, covering her hands with his own. He let out the breath he had been holding when he felt her shake her head. "In that case may I go upstairs and get changed?"
Isobel followed him up the stairs, one step behind him, her small hand enclosed in his large strong fingers, as he led her to the bedroom.
The key turned almost silently in the lock, forethought on his part as they were prone to sleep in long beyond what was respectable. His pyjamas lived in the bottom drawer of her chest, hidden beneath her night dresses, and he bent to retrieve them, kicking off his shoes and socks in the interim.
Isobel dropped onto the bed, leaning back on her arms as he pulled the white pullover over his head and tossed it over the chair.
A smile formed on his lips as he turned back and found her watching him, the image sobering him more effectively than coffee ever would. "Are you going to lay there and watch?" he teased, dropping his cuff links on the dresser.
She smirked back at him. "Would you rather I assisted, my darling?"
He felt the slight stirring in his trousers and flushed as her eyes drifted to his groin. "Always. Yes," he replied hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry as she licked her lips.
Rising to her feet, Isobel closed the distance between them, a slight sway to her hips as his eyes followed her, coming to a halt barely inches before him. Placing her palms firmly against his chest, she gazed up at him. "Really?"
Not trusting himself to speak, he merely nodded. There was a steady warmth flowing out from where her hands touched his skin through the cotton shirt, and he longed for her hands to move over his body. He swallowed hard as her fingers worked his buttons through the holes, lightly brushing against the skin beneath, her eyes locked with his, her own desire clearly evident in the flush of her skin.
The shirt landed in a heap on the floor as her hands stroked up his arms and over his shoulders to entwine at the nape of his neck. Leaning up on tiptoe she pressed her lips against his, intending for them to share the chastest of kisses, but his arms wrapped around her back, tugging her closer as he deepened the kiss.
The combined sensation of his fingers caressing the arch of her back and his tongue running along her bottom lip, elicited a strangulated moan from deep within her. The moan became a groan as his hands drifted lower, cupping her bottom firmly, and pressing her closer to his own desire. "Richard," she started, his name lost on her lips as his mouth captured hers again. Light headed and all too aware of the quickening of her heart beat, she eventually pulled back. "I'm sure I mentioned something about getting you out of these clothes," she stammered, her fingers moving to the fastening of his trousers, fumbling as she tried to regain control of her body.
"I think you may have gotten a little distracted, my sweetheart."
"Well, just stand there and let me . . ." Frustrated by her lack of progress, she dropped to her knees and her fingers almost painfully slowly began to work him out of his trousers.
Glancing down, seeing her in the position he had long dreamt off, the one fantasy he would never bring himself to share with her, he felt his own heart rate quicken. Breathing deeply, his gaze fixated on her, he reached down and tangled his fingers in the loose curls that hung down her back, curling them around his fingers as he tried to reign in his ardour.
The trousers now hanging off his waist, she slid her hands inside the waistband, running her fingers over his taut bottom as she eased them down, pushing them past his thighs until they pooled at his feet. Faced with his obvious need for her, she blushed crimson, her lips pursing, expelling the breath she had been holding. It was with false bravado that she edged her body closer, the desire to both please and surprise him that led her to throw caution to the wind.
Richard felt the warm air brush against his erection, and could not contain his reaction,his hips bucking of their own accord. "Isobel," he whispered as her eyes remained focused, her fingers still caressing his backside through his under shorts, her quickening breaths cascading over his erection. He groaned audibly in the otherwise silent room as she began to reign kisses over his readiness, working her way along the length of him before she sat back on her heels, a small smile on her lips.
His hands pushed the chestnut curls off of her shoulder, sending them tumbling down her back so he could study her face. "You didn't have to do that. You never have to do anything you don't want to, not with me."
She gave him the sweetest smile, the lines around her eyes crinkling as she did so. "Did you not enjoy it?" she quietly asked, fully aware that he had by the way his muscles had contracted at her touch.
"Oh god, yes. Of course. You make me so happy," he exclaimed. " But I love you, and that means never making you do something you feel uncomfortable with."
"It didn't make me uncomfortable. Would you like me to do it again, to touch you some more. . .," she trailed off, biting her bottom lip as she rose to her feet, her hands lightly skimming his body as she stood. She would do anything for this man but talking about it was a new experience for her, and she often found herself blushing at the simplest of requests.
The biting of her lips was his undoing and he grabbed her face in his hands, leaning in and kissing her forcefully on the mouth. "Yes, Isobel, I would like that very much. But not now. Right now I want to distract you some more with my delicate hands."
Her laughter broke through the awkwardness of the moment. "And where exactly are you planning on using those hands?"
"Would you not rather I show you?" he whispered, leaving feather light kisses along her jaw line, as he worked his way towards her ear. "Just think of the anticipation as my fingers gently caress you," he breathed against her lobe as his fingers toyed with a loose tendril of hair.
Isobel shivered as his breath left a cool trail over her skin, his teeth nibbling the curve of her ear.
"Are you cold?" he asked, with a satisfied grin, knowing that he was having the desired reaction. Lightly, he moved his finger to trace the inside of the collar of her dressing gown, revelling in the shudder that ran through her body.
"No," she replied, not willing him to have the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on her. His grin widened as he pushed the gown from her shoulder and caught his first glimpse of the satin nightgown. His fingers were pulling at the tie that held the gown around her middle, his hands moving to skim over the satin that sheathed her body as he stepped back to look at her. "Oh my darling."
Her skin took on the light crimson flush it always did when he complemented her, warmth surging through her body. Her eyes drifted to his chest, suddenly shy in his presence.
While her innocence was endearing, he wanted to be able to gaze in her eyes, to see her reaction to his touch. One hand slipped from her waist , lightly tilting her face to look up at him. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she said simply, quietly, the enormity of her words evident in the way she looked at him.
He wanted to make love to her for hours, to shower her with kisses and allow his hands to lazily explore her body but age and time were against them. It wouldn't be long before night became morning and he would have to slip like a thief into the night; every minute counted. "May I?" he asked, as his hands once more slipped beneath her dressing gown.
She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. It was possible to lose himself in her eyes, he mused, in fact he frequently did, at the most opportune moments. Gazing down at her, his fingertips brushed the pink skin over her heart. As he gently slid her gown off her shoulders and down her arms, allowing it to fall on the floor, his fingers continued to ghost over her body, toying with the straps of her nightgown, tracing the lace that barely covered the curve of her breasts. "You are so beautiful."
Isobel swallowed hard as he continued to gaze at her, desire building in his eyes. It was always like this for them, never hurried, never a quick fumble, a simple look or touch releasing a passion she never knew existed. He made her feel loved and wanted, paying her attention she had only read about in books.
"I could look at you all night," he sighed, "But I want to do so much more than just look."
Isobel stepped out of his arms, taking his hand with forced bravado and tugging him towards the bed. "Then maybe it's time we moved this to the bed."
As they reached the iron bed stead he leaned in and kissed her gently, just once, before walking round to what had come to be his side of the bed. Slipping into bed, he removed his shorts, throwing them casually on the floor before lifting the covers for her to slide in beside him. Her smile should have told him she was in playful move, but it was the way she was licking her lips that cause a ripple of anticipation to run through his body. He watched mutely as her hands moved to the hem of her night gown, pulling it up slowly, revealing the pale soft flesh of her thighs, then her hips, her stomach. His breath caught as his eyes fell on the soft swell of her bare breasts, watching them rise and fall with each hurried breath she took. Her hand seeked out his beneath the covers as she at last joined him on the bed, and he knew then that the confidence he had just witnessed was a show for him.
Squeezing her hand lightly he rolled over and turned off the lamp, throwing the room into darkness, the way she preferred it."Good night, Isobel," he whispered, placing a chaste kiss on her lips and turning over. She missed the grin that quirked at his lips as he did so, her growl a clear indication that sleep was the last thing on her mind. He waited a few seconds before rolling over and cupping her face, pulling her down to his lips for a searing kiss. "What do you want Isobel?" he asked, his lips brushing her nose.
"You, I want you," she whispered in the darkness.
"Oh, god, Isobel," he groaned as his lips found hers, his hand sliding down over her back to clasp her bottom, holding her firmly against him, showing her how much he wanted her too. "I'm not sure how . . ." he began.
"It's really alright," she whispered. And it was. As much as she wanted his fingers to caress her, to bring her to a crashing climax, she knew he was achingly ready.
The hand that had been gripping her bottom, slid over her hip, gently parting her legs. Positioning himself over her, he eased himself into her slowly, each stroke accompanied by his lips against her skin, his fingertips running feather light along her curves. In his youth it had been about pleasure, reaching a fast hard climax for himself but his first time with Isobel had changed that, he had learnt to read her body, to revel in the sensations they shared, to make love for the first time. Now as he moved inside her, slowly easing out and thrusting back into her, he allowed the soft moans she elicited to guide him, the tightening of her muscles around him to control the rhythm. He felt her body lift from the bed as he brushed against just the right spot and he began to move faster. "Isobel," he whispered, her name almost a caress on his lips.
She opened her eyes to look up at him as he pushed into her again, her eyes widening in surprise as his fingertips slid between her folds, gently rubbing against her centre. "Richard."
He stilled within her, ignoring his own painful need, allowing his fingers to bring her closer to the edge, wanting them to find their release together.
Her eyelids fluttered shut and her hands gripped the bed sheet beneath her and he began to move again, his strokes shorter and harder as they both edged ever closer to release.
"Richard," she gasped. "Richard, yes."
He let go as she screamed his name a third time, collapsing on top of her as heat coursed through his body and his heart pounded in his chest. Exhausted he lay there, his lips finding her neck; a series of small, chaste kisses all he was capable of as his body slowly returned to its equilibrium. "Isobel."
"Just a minute longer," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around his back and holding him firmly against her.
"Would you not prefer to be more comfortable?"
Her response was lost in his shoulder, bringing forth another smile.
Richard gently lifted her over him, lowering her body onto the cool undisturbed sheets before rearranging the covers over her. Tenderly he brushed the hair from her face before propping himself up on one arm, content just to stare at her.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, her voice husky from calling his name.
"That I love you, that I don't know how I lived before you came into my life, that I don't want to leave you," he answered honestly.
"I don't want you to leave either."
He smiled, lifting his head and seeking out her hand beneath the covers. "I don't think forever will be long enough to show you how much I care for you but I would very much like to try. My darling Isobel," he started, pausing to take a deep breath. "Will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
"Yes, oh yes, Richard," she replied, without hesitation, confirming her declaration with a kiss. "I would very much like to be your wife."
"Good, well good then," he said taken aback by the certainty of her reply. "Because I very much want to be your husband." There would be plans to be made and people to tell but that would be for another day, it was enough for now that she had agreed. He was about to tell her just that when he noticed that her eyelids were closed and her head had fallen back on the pillow. Loath to disturb her, he draped an arm across her naked body, his fingers splaying over her back and told himself he could sleep for a few hours by her side.
The End