Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

A fter McPherson left, Archibald wandered down the hall, looking for Izzie. He found a half-dozen doors standing ajar, suggesting that she had visited the rooms but no sign of his bride-to-be.

At last, he made his way to his own room. The sight that met him inside robbed him of his breath.

Her boots lay in a heap on the floor, and the borrowed jacket, waistcoat, and cravat she’d had on had been tossed haphazardly upon a chair. Izzie lay upon the enormous bed— his bed—clad only in a white linen shirt, skin-tight breeches, and stockings, dark hair falling loose around her, gazing dreamily up at the carved black wooden canopy.

A guttural sound rose from his throat. Izzie looked up and smiled, seeing him framed in the doorway.

“Oh, Archibald—this is the one I want! Just look at this magnificent bed.” She ran her arms down the red silk counterpane, luxuriating, and Archibald’s cock went from half-mast to hard as granite.

Izzie hadn’t seemed to notice what was going on beneath the falls of his trousers, because she continued in a dreamy voice, “Could we spend our wedding night here? It would be my every fantasy come true for my first time to be in this gorgeous bed.”

Archibald’s feet had carried him into the room unbidden. His mouth had gone as dry as the Arabian desert. Isabella Astley wanted to lose her virginity in his bed? He would be more than happy to accommodate her, although he wasn’t sure they were going to make it to the wedding night.

She lifted her head to look at him, her smile fading as she registered the heat of his gaze. “What is it?”

He peeled off his jacket. “This is my room.”

“It is?” She glanced around, startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. You don’t have many personal effects. I assumed this was a guest room.”

He kicked off his boots. “I don’t spend much time here. Mostly I’m in, er…” It was on the tip of his tongue to say my workshop , but he stopped himself just in time. “Other rooms.”

He climbed on the bed, knees straddling her slender legs, then placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, so he was looming above her. He brought his face just a few inches from her neck and caught a hint of the cherry-sweet scent of her lips. “But, in answer to your question…”

He couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against her exposed neck and was gratified when she shuddered beneath him.

“Y-yes?” she gasped.

His voice was pitched an octave lower than usual as he said, “You can spend as much time in this bed as you want.”

Then they were kissing, if this feverish clash of tongues and lips could be considered a kiss. Archibald was so desperate for her he used no finesse, none at all, but Izzie didn’t seem to mind if the way she was clinging to his neck was any indication.

His rough hand cupped one of her delicate breasts through the linen of her shirt, and he groaned into her mouth. Much to his shock, instead of pulling away, she arched into his touch, then reached up and began yanking at the knot of his cravat.

The cravat gave way, as did his waistcoat. Izzie must’ve done it. Archibald had no idea when or how. He was lost, lost in her, unaware of anything but the sweet sensation of Izzie’s lips on his and the pleasure of her body shuddering as he caressed her in places he had never dreamed he would be permitted to touch.

She urged him to sit up, and he thought she was pushing him off. But it was only so she could peel his shirt over his head.

“Archibald,” she breathed, her delicate hands tracing over his chest. “ My God .”

Her gaze was transfixed on his thick arms. He knew his working-man’s build made him look like a great boor. “I’m afraid you’re marrying a big, hulking brute.”

“You are better than anything I could have imagined.” Her voice was full of awe as she traced her hands reverently across his shoulders. “And I have a very active imagination.”

He had to kiss her again after that, and it was a thousand times better because, by some miracle, Izzie seemed to actually like his burly form and proceeded to touch him all over with her soft, sweet hands.

But it was also a thousand times worse, because if he had thought his cock was desperate before, it was nothing next to how he felt now, with her lips hungry on his and her hands all over his famished skin.

Suddenly, she slid her hands lower, digging her nails into his buttocks and pulling him down so he was lying on top of her. He was so startled that he let her do it, and the feeling of Isabella Astley beneath him on a bed, her delicate thighs falling open to cradle his hips, felt so indescribably wonderful that he had to struggle not to spend himself in his trousers.

He started to press himself up again, because God , he must be crushing her, but she clung to his shoulders. “No, Archibald! No, don’t leave! Stay right there. That feels… That feels…”

He was breathing hard, as if he’d just gone three rounds in the boxing ring. “I love having you beneath me, Izzie. I love it too much. I… I’m losing control. I should probably stop now before—”

“Please, don’t stop!” she gasped, grinding her hips against his and making a desperate whimpering sound. “Please, I want to feel it again. What you did to me this morning. I… I need it!”

He swept her hair back from where it clung to her sweaty brow. “Shh, it’s all right. I’ll give that to you, Izzie. You’ll have it as often as you need it.”

He kissed her neck and was reaching down to fumble with the buttons of her borrowed trousers when the sound of someone clearing their throat came from the doorway.

“Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy, how kind of you to once again assist my daughter in ‘disentangling her hair from the branches of a tree.’”

“Mama!” Izzie shrieked as Archibald buried his face in the pillow, mortified.

“I see that I arrived just in time.” Lady Cheltenham strolled into the room. “It’s a good thing you two already had plans to marry tomorrow.”

Izzie covered her shirt, which was gaping open, with a pillow. “Could you possibly give us a moment of privacy?”

The countess arched a brow. “I think you have had enough moments of privacy, at least, until the vicar has done his work. And really, darling—if you wanted to be left alone, you might have shut the door.”

Archibald groaned. Lady Cheltenham was correct. He hadn’t even closed the door. That’s how far gone he had been, seeing Izzie sprawled out on his bed.

“Oh, don’t be so embarrassed,” the countess said. “You’re getting married tomorrow. Paradoxically, a part of me is pleased by this development. Any mother would be concerned to see her daughter forced into such a hasty wedding. But it seems that you both have considerable enthusiasm about the prospect. That’s not a bad thing. Now come, Izzie. We had best put you back into a dress.”

Archibald reluctantly rolled off her. He sat on the side of the bed, facing the far wall, with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. It was bad enough that his future mother-in-law had walked in on him pawing her daughter without so much as a shirt on. She didn’t need to see the way his cock was tenting his trousers.

He heard Izzie scramble off the bed and slip on her discarded clothing. After a moment, Lady Cheltenham called out that they would see him at supper. Archibald mumbled something in response, then came the click of the door.

He rubbed his brow. He was trying to summon the will to go to the washstand so he could splash himself down with cold water when the door to his dressing room swung open.

His valet, Jack, strode into the room. “How in the name of Satan’s sweaty ball sack did you convince the likes of her to marry you?”

Archibald glowered. “You were watching us? That’s—”

Jack held up a finger. “I ain’t no peeping Tom. As soon as I saw her ladyship come through the door, I scurried into your dressing room so as not to alarm her. So I didn’t see nothing.” He gave Archibald a shrewd look. “Although I heard a fair bit.”

Archibald ran a hand over his face. “I need a moment.”

“Damn right, you do.” Jack crossed to the washstand and made a show of filling the basin. “There’s some nice cold water for you, as I’m sure you’ll want to be saving that”—he cast a significant look toward Archibald’s groin—“for your wedding night.”

Archibald doubted it would be an issue. He didn’t think he was going to have any trouble maintaining a cock-stand so long as Izzie was in his bed.

Getting his prick to go down for two fucking minutes when it came time to take a piss, that was going to be the trick.

Jack was bustling around the room. “Well? You still haven’t told me how you convinced her.”

“She was desperate,” Archibald muttered.

“She certainly sounded desperate ,” Jack retorted.

“You are speaking about my future wife!” Archibald snapped. “Leave, before I dismiss you.”

Jack drew himself up, feigning outrage as he headed toward the door. “Look who’s in a foul mood! Can’t say that I blame you. I wager you’ll be in a much better mood by this time tomorrow.”

As eager as he was to rid himself of his valet’s unwanted commentary, something occurred to Archibald. “Jack. Wait.”

His valet paused in the doorframe. If he had been expecting an apology, he was doomed to disappointment. Archibald was still trying to tamp down the urge to throw the bowl that held his shaving soap at Jack’s head.

“I need a ring to give Izzie tomorrow, but I don’t want to leave her alone in the house. Go down to Rundell and Bridge and arrange for them to send someone over with a few choices.”

Jack huffed. “Oh, I see. Now you want me to be your errand boy.”

“What do you think I’m paying you for?” Archibald snapped. “Believe me, it’s not for the conversation.”

Jack muttered the rest of the way out the door. But at last, the bloody man was gone.

Archibald glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was a few minutes to five. The wedding would take place tomorrow at ten, so he only had seventeen hours before Izzie would become his wife.

He was fairly certain they were going to be the longest seventeen hours of his life.