Taming His Scandalous Countess Read Free

to touch you whenever, and however, I
wish."
    Isabelle dared a glance. Snow still
smiled, but his eyes were hot. She swallowed.
    "I fear you have not fully
apprehended my position. I am here on sufferance only, through my brother's
grace. Were he to discern any improper conduct on my part, I believe that even
his home would be closed to me."
    "And I fear you have not
understood my position. I mean to have you, and I will."
    "So this was why you lied to
John about my acquaintance with your sister," she said. "A rather
shabby ploy, sir."
    "How fierce you are, my sweet.
Dare I hope you are as passionate in the bedchamber?"
    "Sometimes hope is all we
have," Isabelle said sweetly, and upended her cup on Snow's lap. He jumped
like a scalded cat but, fortunately for him, the tea had cooled. Isabelle stood
and set down her cup. He grabbed her arm, but intervention arrived in the form
of Lady Hill.
    "Isabella! Have you taken
leave of your senses? My lord, I pray you allow me to assist you."
Cordelia fussed and bleated like a demented sheep, allowing Isabelle the
opportunity to slip out the door.
     The air in the hallway felt cool
against her cheeks. Isabelle fanned herself, deliberating. Someone would be
here in moments to bring her back to her rooms and lock her in–an unbearable
thought. The hall ran the length of the house, ending in the conservatory. She
fled there, through the scented plants, and out into the night beyond the glass
doors.
    The air was sweet with the
fragrance of roses, and a full moon beckoned. Isabelle, confined in her stays
and elegant gown, hemmed in by convention and propriety, answered its call. She
hurried along the paving to the kitchen garden and through its tidy rows to the
hedge gate, which opened onto the park. The lake glittered before her. Isabelle
ran along its edge until she reached the stone bridge. The flags felt cold
under her slippers. Once over the bridge, she turned left, to where the shore
curved under the arch of a large willow. Here had been her favorite swimming
spot, screened by the low-lying branches.
    Did she dare? John would not
suspect she come here. He was so sure her spirit was broken. But tonight,
something was different. Was it Lord Snow? She hadn't encouraged his advances,
but to give the devil his due, he'd made her feel more alive than she had in
months. His face when she'd spilled the tea! Snow's expression had promised
retribution. A sudden breeze shivered across her skin.
    Isabelle kicked off her slippers,
untied her garters and rolled down her stockings. The grass was cool on her
bare feet. The wind teased her hair and she laughed suddenly. Sweet, blessed
freedom. Isabelle pulled the pins from her hair until it hung around her
shoulders in a sunset cloud. She lifted it, running the curls through her
fingers. Then Isabelle raised her arms to the moon and danced, her feet
flashing along the turf. She felt like a pagan of old, dancing before the
shrine of the goddess. An owl hooted in the distance.
    The cool scent of the water drew
her down to the lake bank, thick with shadows. Isabelle undid the buttons at
the top of her gown, pushing and pulling at the material until she could thrust
it down her hips. She tore at her stays and flung them on the grass. Petticoat
and chemise followed, until Isabelle stood naked in the night air. She splashed
into the shallows and threw herself forward into the lake. The cold water
closed over her head. She re-surfaced, flinging back her wet hair. Isabelle
swam a few strokes and turned on her back, floating in the water while the
stars wheeled overhead.
    A small sound broke her reverie,
like a shoe scraping against rock. She turned her head. A man stood on the bank
watching her. She knew it was Snow, by his height and the breadth of the
shoulders. His presence seemed inevitable, eternal, like the moon and the
stars. She swam back to the shore, halting when her feet found the sandy
bottom. She walked up the bank, water streaming from her naked