Further Than Passion

by Cheryl Holt

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  He clasped her neck to direct her, but she went willingly, impatient to comply. She laved him with short bursts, lapping at the sexual juice oozing from the tip, driving him wild without even recognizing that she was.

  "Is this your seed?"

  "No. It's an indication that I'm very titillated, that I'm close to finishing."

  "How will I know when you're through?"

  "When I spill myself."

  "So I'm doing everything correctly?"

  "Oh yes." He clutched his phallus and brushed it across her lips. "Open for me. Take me inside."

  "Into my mouth?"

  "Yes."

  But for an instant, she hesitated; then she eased over the blunt end. Not delving too deeply, he flexed, and she was so hot, so snug. He gazed at the ceiling, trying to clear his thoughts, to focus on nothing, so that the glorious moment would last, but he was too stimulated.

  Jerking away, he drew her up his torso.

  She didn't comprehend his abrupt rush. "What is it?"

  "I need to come."

  "I don't know what to do."

  "Wrap your arms around me," he advised. "Hold me tight."

  He hugged her to him, pressing against her belly, and he thrust, once, twice, thrice, and emptied himself. His seed surged out in a steamy wave, a sticky glue binding them together.

  With a groan of elation, he careened across the universe, the spiral so intense that he couldn't believe his level of gratification. If his cock had been buried in her sheath, his heart might have quit beating.

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  Gradually, the bliss waned, and he floated to earth, Kate snuggled to him, and he was chagrined, wondering how she'd weathered the ordeal. He shifted away, and peered into her exquisite face. She was so lovely, so exceptional, so much more than he deserved.

  "I'm sorry," he started.

  "For what?"

  "I'd planned to go slower." Embarrassed by his display, he shrugged. "You arouse me beyond my limits."

  "How fabulous."

  "You vixen." He swatted her on the rear.

  Looking shy and demure, she mentioned, "I liked it."

  "Good. Because there will be many more such frolics in our future."

  "You're insatiable."

  "Only with you. I can't get enough."

  Charmed by his statement, she sighed. "I'll pretend you mean it."

  "Oh, I do, my darling Kate. I definitely do." He kissed her, then scooted away, walking to the dressing room and returning with a wet cloth and a towel. He washed away all traces of his iniquity; then he cuddled himself to her, once more.

  "When you have a release like that," she inquired, "how does it feel?"

  "I expect very much how it feels when it happens to you."

  "Ooh, you lucky dog."

  "I am, aren't I?"

  She reached down and stroked him, and though he'd just come to high heaven, his phallus leapt to attention. "I didn't realize it could occur without your being inside me."

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  "I can proceed at the drop of a hat," he boasted, "and I'll teach you all the ways to make it transpire."

  "May we commence right now?"

  "Absolutely."

  He rolled her onto her back, excited and eager to begin anew.

  10

  Elliot Featherstone dawdled at the rear of the ballroom, hoping to bump into Lady Melanie. Though he'd finagled a prior rendezvous, he'd grown too foxed, totted off to gamble, and forgotten that he'd planned to meet with the blasted girl.

  She was so naive, so ripe for the plucking, and he couldn't believe how he'd messed up. As evidenced by her letting him spike her punch with whiskey, she was a weak child, who would be susceptible to all manner of bad influence, and thus, precisely the sort with whom he was desperate to associate.

  He was out of funds, out of luck, and ready to alter his circumstances. Whenever Regina extolled Melanie's fat dowry, he listened carefully, taking special note of the cash that would be unloaded on her fiancé, immediately upon signing the marital contracts. While members of the ton smirked, writing off the family as provincial and coarse, he recognized a golden opportunity.

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  At age thirty-five, and the fourth son of an impoverished, scandal-ridden baronet, he was dead broke. His meager inheritance was spent, and his markers due. Among the Quality, penury was not a cardinal sin, so he was still welcomed in the finest homes, but he flitted from engagement to engagement so that his creditors wouldn't catch up with him.

  Pamela was diligently working for a match between Marcus and Melanie. Should a union be arranged, Elliot would fade into the background, but he couldn't imagine Stamford proposing. When it became clear that matrimony was out of the question, what would happen to Lady Melanie's money? When the fortune could be showered on himself, it was a shame to have it wasted.

  The crowd on the dance floor parted, and she espied him. For once, she was away from her mother, her chap-erone absent, and he nodded toward the verandah, indicating that he was going outside and she should follow.

  Would she?

  Probably, she was furious that he'd stood her up, and he had a dozen good excuses as to why he had. There was no way in hell he'd have her suspecting that he'd been too intoxicated to recollect the assignation, too bent on winning a few pounds at the faro tables to worry about her delicate sensibilities.

  However, if there was one thing at which he excelled, it was talking. He could charm himself out of any embarrassing situation, and she was so inexperienced, it would never occur to her that he was lying.

  He slipped out and hurried down into the massive garden, desirous of being shielded by the trees and shrubs. Guests were strolling the lanterned paths, and it

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  wouldn't do to have anyone see them together. Not yet anyway.

  When he was discovered with Lady Melanie, it would be orchestrated to produce the maximum consequence, and he was determined that she be safely snared in his net before he made a rash move.

  In a matter of seconds, she flitted out behind him, and she wandered into the garden, too.

  "I'm here," he murmured as she went by his hiding spot.

  She crept off the walk, and he motioned for quiet, then guided her to the gardener's shed at the back of the yard. It was isolated and a perfect location for privacy.

  Moonlight flowed in a small window, enough for him to observe that she was nervous, but excited, about the clandestine tryst.

  Foolish tart! His scheme to lead her astray would be so easy to implement.

  Shocking him, she commenced with, "I'm sorry I couldn't sneak to the mews the other night. Can you forgive me?"

  There is a God! he thought to himself, and he changed tactics and feigned affront. "I waited for over an hour! Where were you?"

  "My mother insisted on chatting. I couldn't escape till after two."

  "She treats you abominably." It was the best direction to wend the conversation. They would be allies in their dislike of her mother. "What did she want?"

  "She was ranting on about Stamford and his intentions toward me—when I'm convinced he has none."

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  She shook with fervor. "I'm sick to death of hearing about him!"

  "I'll bet you are, you poor dear."

  A veritable reservoir of compassion, he patted her shoulder, as he retrieved his flask, had a hefty swallow, then offered it to her. She imbibed, and when she tried to return it, he urged her to indulge. Hastily, she swilled much more than was wise, and he was tickled by her lack of restraint.

  "I've been so anxious to speak with you," she confessed.

  "Have you now?"

  She gripped his wrist, her cheeks rosy with the alcohol's effect. "Tell me what you've learned about Stamford."

  He pretended to consider, when he wouldn't dream of keeping her in suspense. "I'm not positive if I should, Melanie. May I call you Melanie?"

  "You may when we're alone," the little snob stated. "In public, I can't ha
ve others realizing we're friendly."

  The petty upstart! Who did she think she was? Centuries before her family had dug its first vein of coal out of the mines in Cornwall, his family had been one of the most prominent in England!

  He forced down his anger. "Melanie, it might be too distressing for you to be apprised of Stamford's motives."

  "What do you mean?" She leaned nearer. "Divulge your secrets. I'm begging you!"

  "You're the innocent in this." He sighed. "I suppose I must."

  "Don't omit a single detail!"

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  "Stamford needsd to marry for money."

  "But he seems so rich."

  "For the moment. But if he's not wed by his thirty-first birthday, he will lose it all. It's detestable that your mother hasn't enlightened you."

  "I'm not sure she knows."

  "Trust me," he said. "I'm cognizant of the facts that Lady Pamela imparted in garnering your mother's decision to sacrifice you." He let the implication smolder that Regina and Pamela were plotting against her.

  "If he's so disinterested, why has he agreed to my being invited to London?"

  "Because no one else will have him, darling."

  "I was his last choice?"

  He acted pained, and she blanched and swayed. To steady her, he hugged her to him. "My apologies. I shouldn't have been so blunt."

  "No ... no ... it's all right."

  She was distracted, and he used her perplexity to touch her as he oughtn't, resting his hands on her waist, stroking her arm. Down the bodice of her gown he had a stellar view of her cleavage. With her plump, curvaceous breasts, she was a sweet morsel who would entice him sufficiently when the time came.

  "Why have others refused him?" she asked.

  "He's a cad and a scoundrel. He drinks and gambles and cavorts with wild women." He paused. "Dare I mention it?"

  "Yes, yes!"

  "He supports three mistresses." A nasty lie, but she could never investigate whether it was true.

  "Three!"

  "The city is agog with stories of his low character,

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  and there's not a father in town who'd allow him in the door."

  "Mother is aware of this situation?"

  Having no idea of what Regina knew or didn't, he shrugged, affecting an air of possessing much confidential information.

  "Are they all gossiping and laughing at me behind my back?"

  "Don't take it to heart, Melanie," he soothed. "They're a vicious bunch."

  Fuming, she stared at the floor, and finally, she muttered, "I have to return to the ballroom."

  "You can't leave. Not when you're so upset."

  "Regina will be searching for me."

  "But there's so much more I need to reveal, so much I want us to share." He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, studying her carefully, having her sense his manly appreciation. Though she was a maiden, she'd have to be a dunce not to deduce his intent.

  "I have to go."

  "You deserve a husband who loves you," he declared. "A husband who cherishes you for who you are, who understands and reveres you. Not some selfish, immature knave who will bring you naught but misery."

  "I'm so confused." As if she had a dreadful headache, she rubbed her temples. "I'm not certain what's best."

  "If you wed him, he'll continue to philander with every strumpet in town. He'll flaunt his paramours in your face. Could you bear it?"

  "No ... no ..."

  "Let me help you, Melanie. Let me rescue you from your mother's folly."

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  "I have to go," she repeated. Visibly disturbed, she stumbled out of the shed, and he permitted her to escape.

  Smiling, he watched her race away. He'd planted fertile seeds, and he'd water them and wait for them to grow.

  ******************

  "Selena!" Agitated and out of breath, Edith Fitzsimmons rushed into the parlor. "The Earl of Doncaster is here."

  "You're joking."

  "No."

  "Dio mio!"

  Selena couldn't believe it. During his prior, abbreviated visit, she'd experienced a stunning connection with him, but she hadn't anticipated that he felt the same. In the past few years, she'd suffered too many disappointments to be optimistic.

  Her first gentleman caller! And an earl! After she had spent so many poverty-stricken, lonely months in the dreary, gray city, it was too much to absorb.

  Pulse pounding with excitement, she leapt to her feet, patting her hair and smoothing her dress. How she wished she'd had some warning, that she had a new gown or exotic jewels to wear for the marvelous occasion.

  "How do I look?"

  "Fabulous, as always." Edith linked their fingers and squeezed tight. "He seems like a fine young man. He could change your life."

  "I'm hoping."

  "At a minimum, he could find out what your sister's done with your money."

  "Let's not discuss it now, Edith. Please."

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  Convinced that Kate was a thief, Edith constantly blamed her, but Selena wouldn't listen to any accusations. Edith had been a godsend, had mothered and guided Selena through her assimilation to England. Selena trusted her and valued her advice, but Kate was Selena's only living relative, and she wouldn't tolerate a bad word being uttered about her.

  "You should broach the subject," Edith chided. "He might assist you."

  "Edith"—Selena was determined to be happy—"all of a sudden, it's a grand day. The earl is here, when we least expected it. We can't have him dawdling on the stoop! Show him in; show him in."

  With a smile, Edith recognized that she couldn't win the argument. Selena might be sixteen, but she was strong willed. Adversity had been an excellent tutor, and she knew her own mind, was definite in her decisions, mature beyond her age.

  "Shall I remain while the two of you chat?"

  "Don't you dare!"

  "But I've never actually acted as your chaperone before. I ought to earn my keep."

  "What are you supposing he'll do? Make mad, passionate love to me—with you loitering in the hall?"

  "He's a handsome lad," Edith acknowledged. "If he gets frisky, it wouldn't be a catastrophe."

  "No," Selena giggled, "it wouldn't be. Go let him in!"

  Posing herself on the tattered sofa, she tarried, as Edith greeted him, as they started toward the parlor. At the last second, Selena tugged at the bodice of her dress, lowering it to display more cleavage.

  She didn't imagine Lord Doncaster had arrived to converse about the weather!

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  Edith maintained that British girls were very prim and proper, that they were strictly raised, and their interaction with boys severely controlled. Selena had been reared in Venice, and her father's Italian blood flowed through her veins. She was on her own, and forced by circumstances to forge her own path.

  The Fates had brought Christopher Lewis to her home, and there had to be a reason. She would seize whatever joy she could from the astonishing opportunity.

  As he entered, her heart literally skipped a beat. He was so attractive, so tall and sure of himself.

  "Lord Doncaster," she welcomed, "how wonderful to see you again."

  "Call me Christopher."

  "I will. And you must call me Selena."

  She rose and tried to curtsy, but he wouldn't permit it. For an eternity, they stood, not talking, but staring at each other like a pair of enamored half-wits.

  "I had to come to you," he admitted.

  "I'm so glad you have."

  He was so close that the toes of his boots dipped under the hem of her gown. Their bodies were almost touching, and sparks of exhilaration shot between them.

  "You're Kate's sister, aren't you?"

  She couldn't predict how Kate might wish her to answer the question, but as for herself, she wouldn't lie, "She's my half sister."

  "Ah ... that explains the resemblance. You have the same mother?"

  "Yes. Are you familiar with the details
of her torrid amore?”

  "Not very. My mother rails about it whenever she's

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  in a mood, or when she's being horrid to Kate, but at Doncaster, it's mostly been swept under the rug."

  "My mother would have been devastated to hear that!" Remembering her flamboyant mother, Selena laughed. "She liked to make a stir, and she'd have hated to think her antics had been forgotten."

  "She must have been quite a character to have braved such a scandal."

  "She was in love, and she didn't feel she had any option but to run away."

  "Yet she left Kate."

  "Not intentionally." It hurt to have him assuming the worst. "She sent for Kate, after she was settled in Italy."

  "Really? That information was certainly kept quiet."

  "There were legal proceedings, but she was deemed an unfit mother, so her custody requests were denied. She went to her grave regretting her loss of Kate."

  "How did you end up in London?"

  "I traveled here after my parents died. Mother arranged for it in her will. She'd planned for Kate and me to be a family, but it never occurred to her that it would be so difficult for us to be together. Or that I would have to reside in London."

  "Why don't you move nearer to Doncaster?"

  Blushing, she was saddened that he'd mention the painful topic. "You know why I can't."

  "No, I don't."

  She assessed him, speculating as to whether he was a very proficient liar or he simply didn't recollect. "Your mother told Kate that she'd discussed it with you, and that you'd said no."

  He sputtered and fumbled for a comment. "Regina claimed that she'd discussed it with me?”

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  "Yes." Ashamed to dredge it up, she looked down at the rug. "You thought my presence would be harmful, that I might rouse animosity among the neighbors or the servants."

  He was silent for such a lengthy period that she was in agony. It was ruined before it had begun! Oh, when would she learn to curb her tongue!

  "Selena," he murmured, and his voice was so sweet and so gentle that she hazarded a peek at him. "This is the sole reference I've received as to any of this. Until I met you the other day, I had no idea you existed. I swear it."