Chapter 11

Isabelle could feel Bode's irritation rising with every piece of clothing she removed. Odd…

Didn't most men wish for this very circumstance? Not Bode, clearly. She knew everything that had happened with his parents had made him skittish about women and relationships.

But she'd asked nothing of him beyond helping her escape London. The fact that she wished to remain in his life was her secret to hold, but perhaps Bode sensed her shifting intentions.

He knew a great deal about women, spending his time with them, and he likely anticipated her motives.

She sighed.

She'd never hold this man. She knew it was true, just as she knew she'd never suffer a marriage to some ordinary lord or gentleman. Too much had happened, she'd been shaped by the circumstances of her life, making her only suited to a man who understood darkness, who knew how to fight it and drive it away.

Bode fancied himself a man not able to be in an intimate relationship with a woman. But Isabelle was in no mood to take no for an answer.

Wasn't it a woman's job to try and tame the beast?

She smiled at the idea of Bode as a beast. Despite his scars, and the circumstances of their meeting, he'd been the most honorable man she'd ever known.

He'd carried her away from London, set his own agenda aside to protect her. Not even her father had done that.

Which is why, standing in her chemise, she gave a good long stretch, reaching her arms over her head, her body arching.

She heard Bode's rumble and smiled to herself as she sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the hem of her chemise up and over her knee to remove her stockings.

"Leave it," he barked, yanking his shirt over his head before he sat down to tug off his Hessians.

She wasn't worried about his fit of temper. Bode would never hurt her. Instead, she leaned back on the bed, propping herself on one elbow, accentuating the curve of her body. "Would you like some help with those?"

"No," he bit out, pulling off the tightly fitted boots and then stood. "You're laying across the entire bed."

"Am I?" She fell back then, her arms going up over her head. "How rude."

He came to stand over her, his gaze moving down her body. She closed her eyes, still able to feel the heat of his stare, her breath catching with anticipation. "You're not rude, you're just…"

"You're angry with me, aren't you?"

"Not angry," he said, his baritone rumbling low and deep.

"What then?" She opened her eyes, the pain evident in the tight lines of his face.

"You're a distraction that I can ill afford if I'm going to keep you safe."

She knew he was right. But safe paled in comparison to really living. Something she'd hardly done in what felt like forever. So instead of answering, she lifted her arms to him, her invitation evident. "Life is difficult and this journey more so," she whispered, her fingers beckoning him forward. "Don't we deserve a bit of pleasure?"

"I don't participate in pleasure. It only leads to pain…"

"Really? In my experience, you experience the painful parts of life either way. Why not add a bit of joy to make the rest of the time more bearable?"

He paused over her. "That is an interesting notion." And then he placed his hands on either side of her on the bed, his body hovering over hers. "But if I'd not loved so deeply, I wouldn't have lost quite so much."

"If you hadn't loved deeply, you'd not be a man of compassion and honor. You'd be Makem."

His breath sucked into his lungs… "I'd never thought of it like that."

"Bode," she whispered into the night. "I'm done doing things because other people wish for me to do them. I want to touch you and I'm not apologizing for it."

The intensity of his stare made her heart race. "Touch me how?"

She blinked back her surprise, her body responding to his interest. She heated, her core tightening. "Like last night." Her voice came out breathy and wanton.

He leaned down then, his body a mere inch above hers as he captured her lips in a slow kiss. "I won't take your virginity. It's too risky."

She nodded, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she kissed him again.

It was a reasonable request. And for now, she'd take it. His body pressed on top of hers, her legs naturally wrapping about his hips, his already stiff member pressing into the sensitive folds of her sex.

She cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth. But without so many layers of clothes, the press of him was just so…much…more.

Digging her fingers into the skin of his back, she wrapped her legs tighter about him, bringing them even closer together.

It was his turn to groan as she swallowed the sound down, her hips rocking under him to get more of the delicious pleasure spiraling through her.

He met her roll with a thrust of his own, the pleasure so intense, she nearly broke apart. But he wasn't done.

He slid a hand under her back, down over her derriere, and then lower, pulling the hem of her chemise over her hips until he could press a finger inside her.

Whatever control she'd maintained disappeared as she bucked against him, pulling him deeper inside.

This man was made for her, every touch was pleasure, every moment wonderful as she scratched at his back, her neck arching as she pushed closer, riding the pleasure he created with so little effort.

He kissed a hot trail across her cheek and down her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as he pressed his palm against her bud of pleasure, pumping his fingers in and out of her.

Unable to stand another second, Isabelle came undone, gasping for breath as her body broke apart.

Bode held her through the tremors as she slowly floated back down, her body feeling both light and too heavy to move.

He picked her up in his arms, settling her on the side of the bed away from the door before he slid under the covers next to her.

Did he think to only give her pleasure?

She lifted her head up. Bode was the most unselfish person she'd ever met. Everything he did was for others.

Which she found completely dissatisfying. He deserved to at least get back what he gave. "Bode Armstrong, you don't mean for us to go to bed yet, do you?"

He pulled her tightly to his side. "You're exhausted."

"And you are creating a tent in your breeches."

He rumbled out a chuckle. "I'll be fine."

But Isabelle was already pulling at the falls of his breeches. Fine was unacceptable.

* * *

Bode closed his eyes, knowing that he ought to not let her touch him like this. How could he maintain distance when…

She slipped her hand into the falls, wrapping around his granite-hard cock and all his thoughts went white.

He groaned out his pleasure, the feel of her soft small hand, holding him, more than he could bear.

Since he'd been a boy, he'd tried to make himself useful. A protector for his mother, a worker for Duke's mother, and Mama Rose. And he'd wanted to do that again for Isabelle.

Care for her, show her his value. He didn't like taking. It usually meant that he just gave people a reason to reject him.

Nor did he want to become too involved with Isabelle. It left him open to the sort of hurt his father had inflicted on his mother, on him. But her words echoed in his head. Did love make him a better, more compassionate man? The truth of that statement rang in his head.

As she touched him, pressing her lips to the spot behind his ear, as she stroked his member, he knew he was powerless to deny her anything.

But she also deserved so much better than him.

She deserved a man of her world of class and influence. One who wasn't so scarred inside and out.

But all those thoughts fell away as she whispered sweet words in his ear, caressing his cock while she pressed to his side. Each lovely word slipped away after she murmured it into his skin but the feelings they evoked remained. Warm and soft, they stoked some fire in his heart, one that had been cold for far too long.

Tension built inside him, his body going so taut, he was ready to snap until he finally came undone, his orgasm ripping through him. It had been gentler than yesterday and yet, just as satisfying, perhaps more so…

Isabelle lay her head on his shoulder, her hand settling on his lower stomach.

"Isabelle," he whispered, brushing a kiss along her forehead. "Do you want me to clean you up, love?"

"No," she murmured back, sounding half asleep. "I want to stay just like this. Let's just sleep."

He closed his eyes, holding her close. Sleep sounded like an excellent idea. Relaxed as he was, he drifted off but his final thought as he held Isabelle close was that she belonged in his arms. Always.

* * *

Bode woke to muffled voices in the common room. The room was pitch dark, and he'd been deeply asleep. Confusion made him slow to respond as he lifted his head, Isabelle still tucked into his side sound asleep.

"You didn't see anyone with scars on his face?" a man asked, his clear irritation making his voice rise louder.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but I would remember a man slashed like that," another, likely the innkeeper, answered.

"Spoke to a man who said he saw a scarred man come in late." The sound of a hammer cocking had Bode sitting up straight in the bed, Isabelle gasping as he startled her awake. He placed a hand onto her arm to comfort her even as he continued to listen.

"No. No, sir. I'd tell you if anyone like that was here. I swear it. I didn't see him…"

"Search the place," the first man called, and the sound of several boots sounded on the floors below.

Bode was out of bed in an instant, tossing on his shirt and grabbing up his boots. Isabelle sat up too. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Get your things. Quick." He finished collecting his clothes and started for hers. They didn't even put on their boots. They'd be quieter without them anyway.

He pulled Isabelle out into the hall, her clothes in her arms, as he made his way to the back stairs that he knew led toward the barn. He shifted his garments into one hand so he could use it to wrap about her waist.

Below, boots clomped about, multiple sets starting up the front stairs.

A small whimper escaped Isabelle's lips.

"Shh." He pushed her clothes into one hand, using her other to cover her mouth. "Don't make a sound," he whispered as they crept down the back steps.

Toward the bottom, they turned a quarter turn. Bode paused before starting down the turn, peering about the corner. Isabelle remained a step behind him, her hand still covering her mouth.

But he stopped short when he spotted two men in the kitchen below. Stepping back up a step so they wouldn't see him, Isabelle pressed to his back.

He held still and alert. If those men came up the stairs, he'd have to fight their way out. No one was hurting Isabelle.

But another man called from the front room and the two men started back down the hall. Bode didn't hesitate. Taking Isabelle's hand again, he entered the kitchen and then out the back door, moving through the darkness toward the barn.

"Hey," Mr. Wiggins called, waving from the seat of the carriage. "I heard the fuss."

Without another word, he opened the door, lifting Isabelle inside. "I owe you," he said to the driver. "Keep it nice and slow. Creep our way out until we've cleared the town."

"Yes, sir," the man answered just above a whisper and with a tip of his cap.

Bode climbed in after Isabelle. "Get dressed," he said even as he began to quietly pull on his boots. "We need to be ready for anything."