Here is the second half of the outtake I posted last weekend. It was a little more difficult to get into our lovely viscount and viscountess' heads than usual, as I am writing such varied characters at the moment. In the end, I decided to have a little fun with this one, and the words began to flow. I hope you enjoy it.

I'll be posting it both in Duty and Desire and the end of Passion and Propriety, for those readers who haven't yet moved on to the sequel.

xx Elise

PS: Unbetaed, so please forgive any mistakes.

~P&P . . . D&D~

Outtake Part 2 – Fruitful

For the second time that night, Isabella found herself staring into the full-length mirror in her dressing room. This time she was clothed, barely, in the diaphanous gown she had first worn on her wedding night. Shaking her head, she wondered how she had ever found the courage to wear it considering her, then, virginal state. Determination had played no small part. It had also helped that she hadn't tormented herself with a prolonged viewing, barely pausing to glance in the mirror before positioning herself to await Edward's arrival. The problem, on this occasion, was that the view had most definitely changed. Angela's assurance that no one would judge her for those changes gave only modest comfort.

Tears stung Isabella's eyes, and she seriously contemplated going in search of the voluminous coverall Lady Westcott had deemed suitable for a new bride to wear when enduring the attention of her husband. A half-laugh, half-sob escaped her lips, when she recalled the gown had been sacrificed to make a surprising number of tiny garments for her babies. While the 'tent-gown,' as she had named it, was no longer an option, she did have other, less-revealing, nightgowns. But before she could go in search of one, she caught sight of her husband's reflection in the mirror, standing in the doorway behind her. She spun to face him.

"Sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice hoarse. "What are you wearing?" He shook his head. "I mean, I know what you're wearing. It's the gown you wore on our wedding night, a night I shall never forget and not only because I got to see you in that stunning gown. What I meant to say was why are you wearing it? Are you . . . is it . . . can we . . .?"

Harried, Isabella reached for her robe, but before she could do more than grasp it with her fingers, Edward stepped forward.

"Don't cover yourself . . . please?" He gently pried the robe from her clenched fist. "I adore the way you appear in this gown, but the last time you wore it I was too afraid to look my fill."

"The last time I wore it, I had a smooth belly and pert, well, pert everything," Isabella said in a voice that shook. "Now I'm all saggy and droopy and I don't know how you can bear to look at me."

The expression that appeared on Edward's face might have seemed comical if Isabella's emotions weren't so fraught.

"Ahhh . . ." he murmured, seemingly lost for words before he gave his head another shake. Then he pulled her unyielding form into his embrace. "My darling wife, I can not only bear to look at you, I am honoured to do so." He pulled back and waited, insistently, until she met his gaze. "As far as I am concerned, you are the most beautiful woman in all the world, and I give thanks, multiple times daily, for the blessing of being your husband. You must never doubt that my affection and admiration are wholly sincere."

Isabella's defensive stance melted, a little. "You're not just saying that?"

"To what end? Maybe it would be best if I show you," he said, drawing her with him toward the bedroom.

Isabella's earlier panic flourished. "There are too many candles lit," she said with far more alarm than the situation warranted, but unable to help herself. "I don't want you to see me like this. The light is too harsh."

Keeping his head deliberately averted, Edward left her standing by the bed and went around the oversized room, snuffing or dimming every lantern or candle bar the one beside the bed. Only once they were both lying upon it, did he look her way.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling childlike relief. He sat and removed his robe, leaving him wearing only his short breeches. Then, after tenderly kissing her lips, he took hold of the hem of her gown. "May I?" he asked, slowly skimming it up her legs.

Isabella nodded, even though a large part of her wanted to burrow beneath the bedclothes and hide. Thankfully, Edward took his time getting to the area of her body about which she was most concerned. In a leisurely manner, he kissed and caressed his way up the length of first one leg and then the other. Her thighs were not as slim as they had once been, but that didn't seem to bother him, as he praised the creaminess of her skin, the softness of the short—well, compared to his—hairs upon her legs, the shapeliness of her ankles and knees. He even professed to liking the appearance of her feet!

Isabella assumed, once he had pushed her gown that high, the he would pause at the shadowed juncture of her thighs. Surprisingly, he by-passed it, smoothing his hands along her well-rounded hips and pushing the gown until it bunched up just beneath her breasts.

Her belly, her stripy, saggy belly with its misshapen navel, was now on display, and she felt a return of the tears that had plagued her more since the birth than ever before in her life. Alice assured her it was perfectly normal and not permanent, but she didn't appreciate this change in her temperament one iota. Nor did she like the changes in her body, no matter how much she told herself they were mere proof of motherhood and nothing of which to be ashamed.

Edward glanced up at her, his expression filled with too many emotions for her to decipher them all. Disgust did not seem to be amongst them. His focused shifted back to the belly she had, so far, managed to keep hidden from him since soon after the births of their babes. He appeared to study it, his brow furrowed and gaze intent. She had relaxed, a little, from his earlier kisses and compliments, but the longer he remained silent, the more her muscles tensed. Then he did something unexpected. He bent his head, so he could begin placing kisses, deliberately placed kisses, along each and every red or silvery stripe. In between the kisses, he murmured words that took a moment for Isabella to discern.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Precious . . . beautiful . . . life-giving . . . courageous . . . miraculous."

Tears of a different kind pooled in Isabella's eyes. When she blinked and sniffed them back, Edward looked up to reveal his own eyes were similarly afflicted.

"Do you know what I see when I look at these marks that adorn your stomach?"

Isabella shook her head, though she was beginning to suspect.

"I see the wonder of creation, the miracle of life, and the means by which you have made me a happier man than I had thought it was humanly possible to be. I love you, Isabella. I love you for you. I love you for giving me our two, miraculous children. I love you for loving and desiring me despite my many scars and flaws. Do you know how it makes me feel whenever you kiss my scarred cheek, or shoulder, or leg?" His question appeared to be rhetorical, as his torrent of words continued. "The first time you kissed my cheek, I assumed it must have been an aberration, but you did it at every opportunity, even when you were cross with me." They shared a watery laugh at the memory of their first week of marriage when he had driven them both to the brink of insanity with his passionate kisses that always came to an abrupt halt. "You accept me for who I am, my Bella, for all that I am, faults and all, visible and otherwise. What sort of husband would I be if I were to do any less? Although, keep in mind," he said, pausing to place a long, savouring kiss to her navel, "I do not see these as faults but trophies, hard won and worthy of celebration and display . . . only to me, of course. If another man were to witness your beauteous naked form his death would swiftly follow."

Isabella laughed, but she suspected he was not actually speaking in jest. A question hovered on the tip of her tongue . . . Are you sure you are not bothered by the way I look? But after his heartfelt words, she knew it would be wrong to voice it. Instead, she summoned her much-vaunted courage and opened her arms—and heart.

Edward came willingly, removing her gown, as he moved up her body. His head lowered to hers, but before their lips met, he whispered, "Thank you, my love. I know it's not easy coming to terms with changes in one's body."

"You make it seem much less of a problem than I had built up in my mind," she said before surrendering to his kiss. They had shared many since the twins' births, but they had endeavoured to keep them somewhat chaste so as not to overly stir their passions. Tonight, they were under no such constraints, and the kiss soon deepened. Their mouths opened to one another, lips tasting and teasing while their tongues entwined. Isabella stroked her husband's warm, bare back and shoulders, loving the breadth and strength he possessed. When her hands reached the waist-band of his breeches, she slid her fingers beneath the cloth, cupped his equally muscular backside, and squeezed.

Edward groaned and thrust against her. His hands had been busy doing some caressing and stroking of his own, though he had been wary of her enlarged and, admittedly, tender breasts. It saddened Isabella, but her nipples were so sensitive from the multiple feedings required of them each day, she deemed it a necessary restraint. She was also cautious of any action that might induce her milk ducts to decide it was time to release their bounty!

When Edward put a hand to the waist of his breeches and began to push them down, Isabella realised that, in all her maudlin dilly-dallying, she had forgotten a very important step in her preparations.

"Wait," she said.

Edward froze. The look in his eyes when he lifted his gaze to hers was nothing short of pained. "You have changed your mind?" he asked, sounding awfully like a little boy about to be deprived of his sweets.

"No, I just forgot I have to do something first."

"It cannot wait?" Edward asked sounding incredulous.

Isabella smiled, secretly flattered by his eagerness. "It will only take a moment, but then we shall be able to enjoy ourselves without fear of repercussions or need for restraint." She gave him a pointed look, willing him to discern her meaning.

"Oh?" Edward murmured, sounding puzzled. Then his eyes widened to match her expression. "Oh! You spoke with Alice and obtained the, er . . . sea-sponge?" he whispered the last two words as if they were describing something scandalous. Considering they were planning on using the typically mundane item in a manner that many would deem sinful, she understood his caution.

"Yes, indeed," Isabella said, sliding down the side of the bed until her feet reached the floor. "I've even had a practise run inserting the sponge, so I know I can do it, but I have settled on lemon juice rather than vinegar. Alice said either would be satisfactory, and I prefer the aroma. There is such a thing as a lemon-scented perfume, but no lady, in her right mind, would choose to go about smelling like salad dressing."

Edward swallowed a snorted laugh and ended up choking on it. When he had finished coughing and spluttering, he helped himself to the glass of water Isabella liked to have on hand beside the bed. Leaving him to sort himself out, she opened the bottom drawer of her night chest where she had hidden her prophylactic supplies behind a bundle of scarves. They consisted of an irregular shaped sponge, a lemon, a knife with which to cut it, and a shallow bowl in which to squeeze the juice and soak the sponge. There was also a small jar of honey Alice had given her to rub onto her perineum—that was a word one never used in polite society—to aid in the healing of the tear she had received at the twins' births. To Isabella's relief, despite the inconvenient stickiness, the honey had worked wonders, and she had healed remarkably well. Next to the honey was another jar, this one containing an herbal oil and lard-based unguent. It was also courtesy of Alice but created for the purpose of massaging into her striations to smooth their bumpiness and, over time, lessen their distinctive colouring. Isabella found it very soothing. Being a tad anxious about resuming marital relations after enduring the rigours of birth . . . twice—not something one forgot in a hurry—Isabella had concluded the creamy emollient would come in handy for a purpose for which she seriously doubted it was designed. Although, she couldn't be the only wife in the Masen District who had put it to such use . . . surely?

"What have you got there?" Edward asked, standing behind her and looking over her shoulder at the contents of the drawer. "It looks like you're gathering supplies for a picnic."

It was Isabella's turn to burst out laughing, although the thought had crossed her mind.

"If Angela comes across my little stash, I shall tell her I am still suffering from cravings . . . highly unusual cravings."

"I'll say," Edward muttered. "Although, you almost have the all the ingredients for lemon butter."

"Ooh," Isabella exclaimed, liking his suggestion. "That's an even better excuse, though why I'd be making it here in my bed chamber would be harder to justify."

"Fixings for a sore throat remedy?"

Isabella rolled her eyes. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that? Although I'd have to follow it up with a feigned cough, and we both know I am not much of an actress."

Edward wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "You could tell her it's none of her business . . . or, here's a novel idea, just tell her the truth. You trust her, don't you? The two of you seem to have grown even closer since she was such a help at the births."

Isabella turned to face her husband and nestled herself in his embrace, her nudity, and the flaws it revealed, no longer a problem.

"I do trust Angela," she said. "In fact, I trust and like her so much, I think it is time I found myself another lady's maid."

Edward lifted his head from where he had been nuzzling her neck. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because, then I could offer Angela the role of my companion. She is a lovely, well-educated young woman whom, I have just discovered, has an even more tragic past than I suspected, and I would like to see her reduced circumstances reversed. Would you mind? I have more than enough income to sponsor her return to society. I thought a new wardrobe and an allotment, so she is no longer forced to work for a living, wouldn't go astray. What do you say?"

"I say that is a perfectly acceptable idea if you so wish it, but may we speak more of this at a later date?" Edward hands had drifted down to her buttocks, and he emphasised his words by cupping the round globes and pulling Isabella up and against his, now straining, erection. "It has been at least three months, and I own to a degree of impatience."

She giggled, a sound she had not expected to utter this night after her earlier fit of self-doubt.

"Just give me a moment," she said, wiggling free of his arms so she could set the necessary accoutrements on her dresser. Once the sponge had been soaked in the lemon juice and then squeezed just enough so it wouldn't drip all over the place, she hesitated. Inserting it while her husband watched was possibly too far outside her area of comfort for her to continue.

"Would you like me to turn my back?" Edward asked, and she released the breath she had been holding.

"Yes, please," she said, accomplishing the task quite quickly once she no longer had an audience. On her trial run, the juice had stung a little. Nothing too severe, but applying a thin layer of the soothing, and protective, emollient to her sensitive nether region, before she inserted the mildly-acid soaked sponge, made for a much more pleasant experience this time around.

"All set," she said with a hint of triumph before climbing back onto the bed. To be on the safe side, before laying down, she placed upon the sheets one of the heavy linen cloths she used for extra protection when she had her courses. While she was busy, Edward removed his remaining garment and then lay down beside her. He wasted no time in drawing her close and showering her with delicious kisses and arousal-inducing caresses. He only paused from his welcome endeavours to lift his head and ask, "Alice is confident the lemon juice and sponge are all we need to prevent conception?"

"Since I am also nursing, which is somewhat of a safeguard by itself, then yes, it is fine." She cupped his cheek, admiring his dear face and better understanding the uncertainty in his gaze. Almost losing her life at the birth, and then fighting the awful infection in the weeks afterward, had been frightening for them both. "Once we don't have the protection of my nursing the babes, we can take the extra precaution of having you withdraw. Then I am sure we shan't have any unwanted surprises."

"You don't mind if we settle for only the two children? I don't know if I could go through that again."

Isabella smiled. Women really were the more resilient of the genders in many ways, as she fully intended they would expand their brood . . . in time.

"Let's not worry about that now, shall we? I don't want to leave it too long and have the lemon juice lose its efficacy."

Edward's brows rose. "Is that possible?"

"Better safe than sorry," she murmured, done with talking and more than ready to get busy loving her husband in all the delightful ways they had at their disposal. Three months truly was too long.

Edward's hands and mouth resumed their dual actions of tasting, teasing, soothing, and stroking until Isabella writhed upon the bed, her delighted moans filling the air. When she was but a hair's breadth away from finding the first, much needed, release she would have experienced in a full, quarter-year, her husband lifted his head.

"What of the babes? Are we likely to be interrupted? I locked the door, but what if they need to be fed?"

"Edward!" Isabella reached down to thread her fingers through the top of his, typically unruly, hair and directed his troubled gaze away from the door and up to meet her exasperated expression. "The babes are fine. Nurse Reynolds has matters well in hand, as I suspect the woman could outproduce a Jersey cow. I asked her to wake me for the early morning feed, the one I usually skip. Now can we please get back to the matter in hand?"

Her large but loving, fiercely protective, and surprisingly nurturing husband assumed a suitably chagrined expression. "Sorry, my love," he murmured before putting his talented fingers, mouth, and tongue—the first time he had used that on her delicate folds had been quite the revelation—back to work, quickly engendering the much desired, and much appreciated, response.

Isabella was still revelling in the languorous waves of completion when Edward climbed up her body and positioned himself between her lax thighs. Wanting him to experience the same degree of bliss he had just gifted her, she spread her legs wider, hugged his hips with her knees, wrapped her arms around his broad back, and urged him home.

It didn't quite work the way she had hoped. Whether it was because they were out of practise, or as a result of scar tissue having tightened the area, she wasn't sure. But it took both their hands to position and guide his member into place. He thrust forward again, and another obstacle presented itself. Pain. A most unpleasant, burning pain. Unable to help herself, Isabella both winced and whimpered.

Edward paused. "Is there a problem?"

Isabella's brow furrowed in contemplation. "Pass me the jar of emollient," she said, his arms longer and more easily able to reach the bedside chest of drawers upon which it sat. Once he had handed her the jar, she scooped a small dollop of the cream from inside and then reached between them to smooth it along his hardened length and around her resistant entrance.

"Try again," she instructed after tossing the jar to the empty side of the mattress.

Edward complied, and they both sighed with relief. Hers, from the lack of pain and the ease with which he was able to slide all the way in, and his, no doubt, from the pleasure of being encased in her silky warmth. She had once had him describe what it felt like, and she could imagine he had missed being inside her as much as she had craved having him there.

Holding still once he was fully encased, Edward met her gaze. "Better?" he asked.

"Perfect," she whispered. "Now move!"

"So bossy," he said with a smile, although he was quick to obey. He moved slowly, at first, and then with increasing vigour, as it became apparent that Isabella was not detrimentally affected by their activities. Industrious in his endeavours, in time, Edward brought them both to the brink of ecstasy. They hovered there in aching anticipation, adoring gazes locked. Then, with their cries mingling together, they tumbled over the precipice and beyond to a world of joy and intimacy and passionate fulfillment. It was a familiar place, one the friends-turned-spouses-turned-lovers would revisit time and time again throughout their long, happy and, quite literally, fruitful union.

Lemons are a fruit, after all!

~P&P . . . D&D~

Hopefully you found that both fun and satisfying. I've posted chapters in two stories this week where they've been rather chatty before and during sex, but that's life sometimes, and Isabella/Bella had some serious insecurities to overcome in both situations.

Passion and Propriety has been nominated in the TwiFanfictionRecs Top Ten Completed Stories for February. I don't expect to make the Top Ten, but your vote would be greatly appreciated. The last time I can recall winning a prize was 38 years ago. I was 16, and I won a box of chocolates at the weekly disco. Yeah...I had the moves. ;)

xx Elise