Chapter 3

AS HOPE REACHED THE top of the stairs, she saw a footman carrying a bucket of water to the room down the hall from her bedchamber. Puzzled, she asked if he was not meant to bring it to her room.

"My instructions were to fill the bath in this room," the footman said, pointing to the guest room.

That didn't make sense. There were no guests in residence yet, and she was the one who needed to clean herself up. Someone downstairs must have mixed up the messages.

"I need to clean up," she said archly, looking down at the ink stains on her dress. Hopefully they hadn't seeped through all the layers of fabric and reached the skin of her legs. That would be a nuisance to scrub off.

She was about to ask the footman to change his course and deposit the water into the tub inside her room when he said, "The tub in this room is almost full. This is the last bucket. I can—"

"No, no need to fix this. I'll take care of it."

The footman's eyes widened but for a moment, and then he maintained his stoic mien and kept walking.

Well, she would never ask them to redo all that work. She would have thought that the servants would know that about her. It rankled a bit that he might think she would make such unnecessary demands. To put him at ease, she smiled at him when he turned back to look at her before entering the room.

She would just take a quick bath in the guest room. No big deal.

That's what she thought. That's what her mind and heart agreed upon. There was no reason to think otherwise.

Hope waited in the corridor for the footman to exit the room, and then she crossed the threshold. Locking the door, she quickly slipped out of her clothes. If the servants had put the tub here, surely her lady's maid would be up shortly with a new frock for her, so she didn't give it a second thought. The steam from the tub invited her to take a moment to clean up and unwind before any guests arrived.

She hopped in quietly and felt her muscles immediately relax. Her head fell gently back against the tub and she closed her eyes. The house party was going to be fun. It was a choice, and she was going to enjoy herself. It wouldn't be the same without the whole family there, but there were enough guests attending to keep her busy. She outlined in her mind the particular needs of certain guests. Michael always enjoyed a good philosophical read. She would be sure to point out the new books they had acquired. Perhaps he would like the Wollstonecraft book she had just reread. A smile curved up on her lips. Doubtful. The man was as rigid as they came. But Isaac, on the other hand…

Her limbs felt loose, and her hand grew restless. Isaac…he might be open to the ideals. She sunk lower in the tub, feeling a hot liquid pool between her legs. The water was hotter than she remembered. Her stomach tightened and her feet arched. She stretched out, trying to release the tension. Behind heavy lids, she saw his face. Isaac's dark eyes had a way of piercing into her soul, laughing each inch deeper that he went. It was almost unsettling. If it wasn't so…how could she describe the feelings he gave her when she didn't even understand them herself.

He made her laugh. That, she knew. She felt comfortable around him and could tell him anything. In an unconventional way, she trusted him, despite the fact that he was a rake. So really, she amended, she trusted him with her heart and mind. But not her body. That, she would never give him. For the obvious reasons. And for all the normal reasons a virtuous woman should never trust a rake; namely, that he treated women like trophies.

A small sigh blew from her lips. Time to stop thinking of Isaac. Time to soap up and get ready.

Drat. The soap must be in the inner room. She jumped out of the tub and made her way to the door. Just as she was about to open it, someone stepped out.

A gasp and a grunt collided. And then oh, good Lord, everything collided. Her naked body was sliding up and down and against a solid wall of muscle. Unadulterated, yet adultering, male. It was him. How he was there, why he was there, and why, for the love of God he was naked, she did not know. Something burst inside of her. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that it exploded all over him, but nothing had changed. Her vision—what blurry vision she had—confirmed it. Everything was the same. The room. The tub. The man. The steam. God, the steam…All was the same as it had been. Externally, that is. Internally, everything had slid out of place.

"Isaac?" she gasped.

He grunted a reply. And when she looked up at his face, it looked to be in pain. His eyes were squeezed shut, and ragged breaths were slowly being drawn out of him.

His embrace was a steel trap, with his arms around her waist, one hand up between her shoulders and one hand laying claim to her lower back.

She could feel the light fuzz of his chest hair against her nipples. The conscious thought brought them to a peak. And that extra movement made her aware of a slight friction that was searing a trail of fire from her nipples to her core. And if she thought for a second that the fire was only inside of her, she was quickly disabused of that notion. His body was a raging inferno. She knew because she could feel his volcanic temperature through her hands that were pinned to his chest. Her elbows were tucked against her ribs. She could move, but she didn't want to move, did she?

And then, maybe because she did wriggle a little bit, he made up her mind for her. "Don't move," his voice was hoarse and abrupt.

She had never heard such a harsh word from him. And so…gravelly. A million wings fluttered in her stomach. A dull ache pulsated between her legs.

"Don't move," he repeated. "I need to" —he dropped his head into the crook of her neck— "think."

It was appalling to be this close to him, with so few—that is, no—layers between them. She had been quite close to him during the three-legged race they had done last summer. But it hadn't felt anything like this. This…well, nothing had ever felt anything like this. Bliss. Heat. Aching. Need. A need for something she didn't understand. But, if she thought she did understand, which was hard to admit, she certainly didn't want it from Isaac, the laughing rake.

He wasn't laughing right now though. And that might be the most complex part of this. If he had laughed it off and pushed her away, well, she was sure they could deal with that. It would be intensely awkward. Of course. Maybe she would avoid him for a day. Or a month. Yet it would have been but a momentary collision. That kind of moment she could have recovered from because her mind wouldn't have had time to feel everything. Everything. And not just feel but contemplate everything. Every little tickling hair. Every beat from his heart. Every twitch of his thigh. Every soft breath from his lips. "Wouldn't it be better if you let me go?" she whispered.

It took an eternity for him to reply. "Probably," he mumbled. "But no. Then I'd see you. I think…feeling you is better." He rubbed his head side to side against her neck. "Let me think."

Another eternity passed. His hand started slipping down her bottom.

"Isaac," her voice cracked. "You might need to think. But what exactly is your hand thinking about?"

He hummed into her neck, sending a shiver down her spine.

This was a moment flooded with newness, so she didn't think it possible to make a distinction between something else new. Yet when that something new twitched against her belly…her heart pounded and her thighs squeezed together. It wasn't contemplating every tickling hair that was excruciating, it was appreciating every big, bulging—

"What is… that…um…thinking about?" she squeaked out.

His nose pressed into her throat and she felt his soft, warm lips against the base of neck.

"Isaac?" She tried again in a throaty voice.

"Hope," he growled. And his teeth were on her neck.