A Passion for Him

by Sylvia Day

  Colin straightened from his low bow, his eyes meeting Ware’s as the earl mimicked his movements. He felt the hot trickle of blood weeping from the shallow wound caused by Ware’s blade, but he did not care. Ware had satisfaction, but that was all he would have. It would have to be enough for the earl, for Colin intended to take the spoils.

  “But regardless of everything that recommends you, my lord,” Colin continued, “I concede only this duel. Not Miss Benbridge. Her deeper affection is for me, as always. And I believe my feelings for her are quite obvious to one and all.”

  “Which is why you abandoned her for several years?” the earl scoffed.

  “I cannot alter the past. However, I can assure you that from the present moment onward, nothing on Earth can take her from me.”

  Ware’s blue eyes narrowed, and thick tension filled the air between them. Then the corner of the earl’s mouth lifted. “Perhaps you are not the man I thought you were.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  They bowed again, then quit the lawn, both men heading in the separate directions their lives would now take them.

  The next half hour of Amelia’s life—or was it an hour?—passed in a daze. Maria forced tea upon her, as well as a hefty dose of laudanum.

  “It will calm you,” her sister murmured.

  “Go away,” she muttered, slapping at the many hands that sought to soothe her brow.

  “I will read quietly,” Maria said, “and send your abigail away.”

  “No. You go, too.”

  Eventually they gave up and went away, leaving Amelia to curl into herself and fall back into a dreamless, drug-induced sleep.

  Sadly, the respite did not last long. Far too soon another hand brushed the curls back from her face.

  “I suppose I have only myself to blame for your lack of faith.”

  Colin’s voice brushed across her skin like a tangible caress. She rolled into him, grasping with her hands. He caught them with his own and squeezed.

  “You were supposed to sleep straight through this morning,” he murmured, pulling the blankets back from her. “I wanted to spare you any possibility of distress.”

  She was lifted and cradled to a warm, hard chest. The scent of his skin, so alluringly masculine and uniquely Colin, urged her to bury her tear-streaked face in his cravat.

  She was distantly aware of being carried. It felt as if they descended a staircase, and then fresh air was drifting over her skin, making her shiver.

  “There’s a blanket in my carriage,” he murmured. “A minute more and then you will be comfortable again.”

  A moment later she was jostled into a carriage, and it set off with a lurch, the wheels crunching across gravel. She was held securely in Colin’s lap and covered warmly. Tears leaked out between her closed eyelids, and she prayed that she would never wake from such a wonderful dream.

  His firm lips pressed tightly against her forehead. “Sleep.”

  Drugged by the laudanum, she did.

  It was the sudden cessation of motion that woke Amelia. Blinking, she fought off the remnants of sleep.

  “The horses are fatigued and I am near starved.” Colin’s deep voice pulled her from half awareness to full cognizance in an instant.

  The duel . . .

  Bolting upright, the top of her head made sharp contact with his chin, causing them both to cry out.

  “Ow, damn it,” he muttered, rearranging her atop his lap as if she weighed nothing at all.

  Wild-eyed, Amelia took in the luxurious appointments of Colin’s travel coach and then leaned out the window. They were in the courtyard of what appeared to be an inn.

  She glanced at him and found him rubbing his chin. “Where are we?”

  “On our way.”

  “To where?”

  “To be wed.”

  Amelia blinked. “What?”

  His smile revealed his dimples and reminded her of the boy she had fallen so deeply in love with. “You said that we had no hope of moving forward together if I was forever leaving you behind. Since I had no further reason to enjoy Lord Ware’s hospitality, it was time for us to go.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, trying to collect what it was that he was saying. “I do not understand. Did you not duel this morning?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “Did he not win? Did you not say he was the better man? Dear God, am I losing my mind?”

  “Yes, yes, and no.” Colin tightened the arm banded around her waist and pulled her closer. “I allowed him first blood,” he explained. “He had a right to it. When I took you, you were still his.”

  Amelia opened her mouth to protest, and he covered her lips with his fingertips. “Allow me to finish.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, absorbing the sudden gravity reflected on his countenance. Then she nodded and slipped free of his embrace, moving to the opposite squab so that she could think properly.

  It was then she noted that she was dressed in her night rail. For his part, Colin was beautifully attired in a velvet ensemble of dark green. She still encountered difficulty correlating the Colin before her with the Colin of old, but she had no difficulty loving him, regardless. The sight of him filled her with pleasure, just as it always had.

  “There is no point in denying that Ware can offer you things that I cannot,” Colin said, his dark eyes watching her with a mixture of love and determination. “That is what you overheard this morning. However, I have come to realize that I don’t care.”

  “You don’t?” Amelia’s hand went to her fluttering stomach.

  “No, I don’t.” He crossed his arms, revealing the powerful muscles she found endlessly arousing. “I love you. I want you. I intend to have you. Every other consideration be damned.”

  “Colin—”

  “I’ve stolen you, Amelia. Run away with you, just as I have always wanted to do.” He smiled again. “Within a fortnight, you and I will be husband and wife.”

  “Do I have no say in the matter?”

  “You can say ‘yes’ if you like. Otherwise, you have no say.”

  Amelia laughed even as tears fell.

  Colin leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. “Tell me those are happy tears.”

  “Colin . . .” She gave a shaky sigh. “How can I say yes? Discarding Ware so callously for my own pleasure is exactly the sort of behavior my father excelled at. I could not live with myself if I acted so selfishly. Perhaps I would even grow to resent you for tempting me into such reckless deportment.”

  “Amelia.” He straightened. “If I tell you that Ware would want nothing more than your happiness, it might alleviate your concern and goad your agreement, but that is not what I want.”

  She frowned.

  “Yes, we are acting impetuously,” he continued. “Yes, we are seizing the day and our love without a care for the world. That is who we are. That is our affinity. You and I are not ones to restrain our joys.”

  “People cannot live in that manner.”

  “Yes, they can. As long as doing so brings no pain to others.” His voice grew more impassioned, arresting her. “Ware does not love you, not as I do. And you do not love him. I also suspect that you do not love yourself, not as you should. You accused me of molding myself into someone I am not, yet you are guilty of the same offense. You seek to mold yourself into a woman of decorum and duty, but that is not who you are! Do not be ashamed of the facets of you that I love so much.”

  “Welton was an awful man,” she cried. “I cannot be like him.”

  “You never could be.” Colin caught up her hands. “You are filled with love for life and family. Your father was filled with love only for himself. Two very different things.”

  “Ware . . .”

  “Ware knows what I am doing. He could stop us if he wishes, but he won’t. Regardless, I am altering myself to have you. I am taking this day and you, and forsaking all of the rest. It is frightening, yes. We will both have to leave the cages we created fo
r ourselves and venture into the unknown. But we will have each other.”

  Cages. She had been caged for so long, one part of her hating the restrictions, the other part grateful that they restrained her from being too much like Welton. “You know me so well,” she whispered.

  “Yes, I know you better than anyone. You told me to believe that I was worthy of you. Now it is your turn to believe that you are worthy of me. Trust that you are free from whatever defect of character your father suffered. Trust that I am smart enough to love a wonderful woman.”

  He pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Make the leap with me, Amelia. I am holding on to our love with both hands, despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t. Do the same. Embrace your wild nature and run with me. Be free with me. We shall all be happier for it.”

  She gazed at him for a long moment, her vision blurring with tears. Then she threw herself into his arms.

  “Yes,” she whispered with her cheek pressed to his. “Let’s be free.”

  Christopher, Simon, and Ware were engrossed in a discussion when Maria burst into the room with her skirts held in one hand and a missive in the other.

  All three men rose immediately. Christopher and Simon both stepped toward her with frowns marring their handsome features. Ware merely raised his brows.

  “I found this atop Amelia’s pillow! Mitchell has absconded with her.”

  Simon blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Truly?” Christopher smiled.

  “He says he intends to marry her.” She glanced down at the note to read it again. “They are already headed north.”

  “We must hurry or we will miss the nuptials,” Ware said.

  “You knew?” Maria stared at him with wide eyes.

  “I hoped,” he corrected. “I am pleased to see the man has come to his senses.”

  Maria opened her mouth, then shut it again.

  “Well, let’s not dally,” Christopher said, catching her elbow and spinning her back around toward the door. “We have packing to see to. Tim can guard Mademoiselle Rousseau and Jacques while we are absent.”

  “North,” Simon muttered. “May I ride in your carriage, my lord?”

  “Certainly.”

  Still finding it difficult to believe, Maria glanced over her shoulder at Ware.

  “This is a happy occasion, Mrs. St. John,” he drawled, following directly behind them. “You should be smiling as I am.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  She looked at Christopher, who nodded. With that, she shrugged and laughed aloud. Then she lifted her skirts and raced her husband up the stairs.

  Epilogue

  “We set sail in a few hours,” Quinn said, fingering a coined tassel on a multicolored pillow. “My trunks and valet are aboard, and Lysette is safely restrained in my cabin.”

  They sat in the family parlor of Colin’s new town house in London. It was a large room, beautifully decorated in shades of soft blue and gold. Around the room, Amelia had added colorful touches of his heritage—pillows encased in glorious scarves, small carved figurines, and bowls of Romany trinkets given to them by Pietro as wedding gifts. The style was unfashionable and would be considered horrifyingly gauche by many, but they both loved the space and spent a great deal of time curled up together there.

  Embrace who you are, she had said, with a new confidence that aroused him unbearably. She, too, was embracing the reckless side of herself that she had fought to contain for so long. Fears of becoming too much like her father were banished, just as Colin’s fear of being unworthy of her no longer had power to dictate his actions.

  Colin leaned back in his chair and asked Quinn, “Did the French agree to release your men in a trade for the return of Mademoiselle Rousseau and Cartland?”

  “And Jacques. They want him, too. But I am only taking Lysette with me for now. They can have the other two back after I am certain they will honor their end of the agreement.”

  “I do not envy you that trip,” Colin said, wincing. “I cannot imagine Mademoiselle Rousseau makes a very good prisoner.”

  “She is miserable, but I am enjoying the whole thing immensely.”

  Colin laughed. “Because you’re a cad. When will you return?”

  “I am not certain.” Shrugging, Quinn said, “Perhaps after I ensure that the others are released. Or perhaps not even then. Maybe I will travel some.”

  “You are good to your men, Quinn. It is a trait I have always admired in you.”

  “They are not my men any longer. I have resigned.” He nodded at Colin’s raised brows. “Yes, it’s true. My work for Eddington was diverting for a time, but now I must find new ways to amuse myself.”

  “Such as?”

  “Some sort of trouble will come up.” Quinn grinned. “Seeing you in your evening finery reminds me that a life of social indulgence is not for me. It would bore me to tears.”

  “Not with the right woman.”

  Quinn threw his dark head back and laughed, a rich, full sound that brought a smile to Colin’s lips.

  “Even when I was maudlin with love for Maria,” Quinn said, pushing to his feet, “I thankfully never spouted such nonsense.”

  Colin rose with him, flushing sheepishly. “One day, I hope to remind you of your protestations and watch you eat your words.”

  “Ha! That day will be a long time coming, my friend. Likely, neither of us will live long enough to see it.”

  As Quinn turned to leave the room, Colin felt more than a small measure of sadness at their parting. Quinn was a wanderer by nature; therefore, they would see each other far less often. After all they had endured and experienced together, he thought of Quinn as a brother and would miss him accordingly.

  “Farewell, my friend.” Quinn clapped him on the back when they reached the foyer. “I wish you much joy and many children in your marriage.”

  “I wish you happy, as well.”

  Quinn touched his brow in a smart salute, and then he was gone. Off to find his next adventure.

  Colin stared at the closed front door for a long moment.

  “Darling. ”

  Amelia’s throaty purr sent a wave of heat across his skin.

  He turned to face her with a smile and found her paused at the top of the stairs, dressed in only her robe. Her hair was beautifully, intricately arranged with twinkling diamonds weaved among the powdered strands.

  “You have yet to dress?” he asked.

  “I was nearly finished.”

  “It does not appear that way to me.”

  “I had to stop when Anne brought me the finishing touches to my ensemble . . . and the final piece of yours.”

  “Oh?” His smile widened. He knew well that look of seductive mischief in her eyes.

  Her left arm lifted gracefully, the emerald of her wedding ring glinting in the candlelight from the foyer chandelier, her delicate fingers wrapped with lustrous black satin and dangling a familiar white mask.

  Every muscle in his body hardened.

  “If you like,” she murmured, “we can go to the masquerade as planned. I know it took you some time to dress.”

  He strode toward the stairs. “It would take me considerably less time to undress,” he purred.

  “I should like you to wear this.”

  “I set it out for a reason.”

  “Wicked man.”

  Colin took the steps two at a time and caught her up, relishing the feel of her soft, unfettered body pressed to his. “I’m wicked? It is you, Countess Montoya, who lures me away from a staid social outing in favor of a night of licentious revelry.”

  “I cannot resist.” She lifted the mask to his face and secured the ribbons. “I have a passion for you.”

  “Indulge it,” he growled, his lips to her throat. “I beg of you.”

  Her laughter was filled with joy and love. It filled his heart then, and over the course of many hours afterward. Along with other, equally wondrous sounds.

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  “It’s stupid, I know, but I don’t think I want to hire a private investigator,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to find out that another person I trusted wasn’t what he appeared to be.”

  “What do you mean?” Damon asked, wondering who had betrayed her. He supposed any number of the adults in her life could’ve been responsible, from the social workers who’d placed her in one home after another, to the various people she’d been sent to live with following her mother’s death. Or maybe some guy had hurt her, although he had his doubts on that score since she rarely allowed anyone that close to her. “You do realize looking into Linton’s past could mean the difference between a death sentence and freedom.”

  “I know that,” Laurel said. “I do. But I’d hate to find out I was wrong about him. Besides, it’s just . . . it just seems so far-fetched. Like what? Jonathan was leading a double life that I didn’t know about?”

  “It’s entirely possible.” He loosened his hold on her and slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders.

  “What if I don’t want to entertain the possibility?”

  The hurt in her eyes made him curious, but also resurrected the protectiveness he’d always felt toward her. An emotion he knew from experience could lead him right into a world of trouble neither of them needed.

  That knowledge didn’t stop his hands from drifting upward to cup her satiny soft cheeks in his work-roughened palms. “Look, Laurel. My job is to keep you alive. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that happens.”

  The barest hint of a sad little smile curved her lips. “You know, for as much as I protested, I don’t know if I could get through this mess without you.”

  He smiled. “Sure you could,” he told her. “You’re a strong woman, Laurel. Don’t forget that.”

  Something flickered in her eyes, but this time he recognized the emotion. Desire. That other emotion in her gaze he’d mistakenly thought could be fear, hadn’t been fear at all.