Further Than Passion

by Cheryl Holt

  "Just that Kate wasn't here for the ceremony."

  After the various upheavals, they'd been terrified that something horrid might occur to keep them apart. Not wanting to tempt fate, they'd obtained a Special License and had been married in Lord Stamford's parlor, with only Marcus, the vicar, and his wife as witnesses.

  There hadn't been time to order a dress, arrange a supper, or send an announcement to the papers, so there definitely hadn't been an opportunity to bring Kate from Doncaster. Not that she'd have come in her condition. It would take a long while for her to recuperate, both physically and mentally, from her London ordeal.

  Edith Fitzsimmons had accompanied Kate on her journey to the country, and had remained at the estate until Selena could arrive and care for Kate herself. Edith regularly apprised Selena of Kate's recovery, and of all her injuries, Selena suspected that Kate's broken heart would be the last to heal.

  "She'll be standing with you at Doncaster."

  "I'm counting on it."

  Once their personal affairs were settled, they planned another ceremony, a grand fete worthy of the Earl of

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  Doncaster, though Chris's family wouldn't be allowed to attend. Lord Stamford had Regina under lock and key, and he intended to keep her confined and out of mischief until her house was ready in Cornwall.

  Melanie and Mr. Featherstone were to be married, and soon, though Featherstone was grousing about being tricked into matrimony, and how he shouldn't have to wed Melanie when her dowry wasn't as it had been portrayed. No one listened to him, and in fact, many had been heard to guffaw aloud when he voiced the preposterous complaint.

  Selena's mother-in-law and sister-in-law were crazy, but Chris had banished them from Doncaster, so she wouldn't ever have to deal with either of them. Recalling his edict, pronounced amidst much whining and posturing by both women, made her smile.

  What a fine earl he was going to be!

  "What are you grinning about, you minx?"

  "I'm so very, very happy."

  "So am I." For an eternity, he assessed her, and he

  blushed. "I have a confession."

  "What is it?"

  "Whilst you are a virgin, / am not."

  She raised a bro0w. "After the shenanigans in which we've engaged, I scarcely presumed you were. How many lovers have you had? Are you a rampant libertine? Should I be worried about your fidelity?"

  "No. There's only been one other."

  "Who was it?" She wasn't positive if she wanted to be informed or not, and an image flashed of Lady Pamela. After observing her odd behavior that hideous night at Mr. Featherstone's, Selena was certain it was she.

  She hoped Lady Pamela had been an excellent tutor.

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  His blush deepened. "I can't say, but you should know that I... that I..."

  "It's all right, Chris. It's in the past."

  "I wish I'd waited till I met you."

  "Hush." She laid a finger across his lips. "I'm glad you are aware of what is to happen, for I haven't the foggiest idea."

  "Well, I do, my dear bride. Let me show you."

  He eased her onto the pillows, coming over her, and covering her with his body.

  Their previous trysts had transpired on sofas and in carriages, so she hadn't had the chance to learn how glorious he would feel, how she would thrill at the sensation created by his pressing her down.

  As he massaged her breasts, he began kissing her, and down below, a spark of desire was kindled. When he finally pulled down the bodice of her negligee, and dipped to her bosom, she was writhing with anticipation and begging him to hurry.

  He nipped and bit at her nipple, sucking until she thought she would die from the stimulation, and she nestled him closer, urging him to feast.

  His hand trailed up her thigh, her hip, and she was so eager that he touched her once, again, and she soared with ecstasy. Throughout the tumult, he held her, cooing soft words, and as she spiraled down, he was preening, tickled by his prowess, by his ability to inflame her.

  "You are so sexy," he remarked.

  "Am I?"

  "Yes, and I am so lucky." He drew her nightgown down and off so that she was naked, and he gazed at her.

  "Do I please you?" she asked.

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  "Oh, Selena, so much in every way. Shall we finish it?"

  "You'd better!"

  He loosened his robe, and she yanked it off so that he was naked, too, but as he moved over her, she stopped him.

  "I'm dying to look at you."

  "Be my guest."

  He shifted away, so that she could explore, and she ran her fingers across his chest. He was lean and smooth, graceful as a large African cat. Between his legs, his phallus was long, hard for her, and her virginal insecurities leapt to the fore.

  "Are you sure it will fit?" she queried.

  "I promise."

  "I don't know what to do with it."

  "I'll teach you."

  She reached down and gripped him, judging weight and texture, girth and length, and as if he was in pain, he groaned.

  "Have I injured you?"

  "No. It feels very, very good. Too good."

  He retrieved her hand and kissed it. "When I'm aroused, it's agonizing to endure your fondling."

  "But I want to give you as much pleasure as you give to me."

  "You will, darling, but let us consummate our vows, and after, I won't be so impatient. Then, you can play until dawn."

  "An excellent notion."

  He widened her legs, grasped his cock, and centered it. Her sheath was moist from her climax, and he rubbed the blunt crown across it, wetting it, edging it in.

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  "This will hurt," he explained.

  "You told me it would."

  "I'd avoid harming you—if I could."

  "Don't worry. I'm not afraid."

  He nodded, proud of her composure, her unruffled acceptance of the inevitable, and she was surprised, herself, at how calm she was acting. Inside, her heart was thundering so rapidly that she fretted it might burst.

  "I love you, Selena."

  "I love you, too, Christopher. I always will."

  "Put your arms around me."

  She hugged him, and he began flexing, prodding into her, farther and farther. Her goal was to be extremely mature and sophisticated about the entire affair, so she'd meant to relax, to make it easier for him, but the process was too foreign, her body too untried. She tensed.

  "Almost there," he soothed, and he thrust and burst through her maidenhead.

  She felt the pain, the rush of blood, and she cried out. Kissing her, he swallowed the sound, sharing her distress, and he held himself very still, until the sting lessened. He started to move, pushing into her and retreating, and she quickly adopted his rhythm.

  Sweetly, gently, he rocked himself to a conclusion, and as he stiffened, as he wrenched to the end, she reveled in his release, in the sensation of his seed spewing across her womb. He shuddered and collapsed, and she decided it was the most precious, most divine moment of her life. Tears filled her eyes.

  His passion spent, he rose up on an elbow and smiled at her, but on seeing her upset, he frowned.

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  "What's this?" he said, swiping the tears away with his thumb.

  "It was so beautiful."

  "Yes, it was."

  "I didn't realize how special it would be."

  "It's difficult to describe until you've been through it." He slipped out of her, and snuggled himself to her side. "I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?"

  "It was wonderful." She traced his face, his lips, memorizing every detail, so that she would never forget a single aspect of the instant she'd become a woman. "What now?"

  "First, we take a bath"—he wiggled his brows— "together."

  "Ooh, I like that idea."

  "Then we try it again."

  "Again?"

  "Well, you had me
ntioned that you're eager to learn what I enjoy."

  "So I had." She laughed and jumped off the bed. "I'll ring for that bath."

  ******************

  Elliot sawed away between Melanie's thighs, wishing the end would arrive, but he couldn't manage to generate sufficient stimulation. His cockstand waned, growing more and more limp, until the necessary rigidity dwindled, and he couldn't shove it inside her.

  Who could have imagined that fornicating with such a pretty girl would be so distasteful?

  Disgusted, he stopped and flopped onto his back.

  "Are you finished?" she carped.

  "Yes."

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  "Thank God."

  She scurried away, leaping to the floor and concealing herself in her robe, as he stared up at the ceiling, speculating as to how long he'd be able to persevere before he strangled her and put them both out of their misery.

  Over by the dresser, she was fiddling with her jewelry, which he planned to sell to clear up a gambling debt. He hadn't advised her yet, and he probably wouldn't. It would simply vanish.

  "How long are you intending to lie there?" she snarled.

  "I'm not certain."

  "Leave at once."

  "I will. When I'm ready."

  "It's two o'clock in the afternoon," she complained. "I shouldn't have to suffer your attentions in the middle of the day."

  "You'll suffer them whenever I'm in the mood."

  "You're a beast. I can't abide this torment. It's foul enough that you traipse in here every night, drunk and stumbling about."

  He sighed. How could such a marvelous scheme have gone so terribly awry? All he'd wanted was some fast cash, a method of stabilizing his finances. Was that too much to ask?

  Instead, he'd been saddled with an impossible, impertinent child, and without her fortune as an incentive, the notion of binding himself to her had been so repugnant that he'd actually considered absconding, running off to France or America, and if he'd had a penny to his name, he would have.

  Despite his dire fiscal situation, he'd pondered the

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  prospect anyway, but with Stamford acting as Melanie's temporary guardian, Elliot was convinced that Marcus would have chased him to the ends of the earth.

  She was nagging again, and his head throbbed.

  "About what are you jabbering?"

  "You remember the gown we discussed. When can I buy it? And I must have the matching hat."

  As he'd explained to her—over and over!—she wasn't at Doncaster, and her greedy mother wasn't controlling the purse strings. He hadn't the wherewithal to spoil her as Regina had, but Melanie couldn't seem to grasp that by aligning herself with him she caused her life to take a drastic turn.

  "I've previously informed you that I haven't the funds for such folderol."

  "What am I to do? Tramp about London looking like a pauper?"

  He rolled his eyes. When she'd moved in, his servants had carried trunk after trunk up the stairs. He'd been in her room. It was packed to the rafters.

  "Money doesn't grow on trees. You can't snap your fingers and make it appear."

  "I don't care where you find more. Just find some!"

  "Why don't you visit your brother to see if he's decided on a settlement for us."

  "You know he hasn't."

  Elliot still wasn't positive of what had happened to the assets in her dowry, but if his luck got any worse, he'd go out in the yard and shoot himself!

  "Check with him anyhow," he chided. "Maybe if you pester him, he'll hurry up, merely to be shed of you."

  "Why must I handle it?"

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  He glared at her. "Need I remind you that I thought 1 was obtaining a rich wife?"

  "And is it my fault the titles were mixed up? That ownerships are in dispute? How was I to know? Are you supposing my mother confided in me about anything?"

  "Don't mention Regina to me." Since before the wedding, Stamford had kept her away, a boon for which Elliot would be eternally grateful.

  "I'll do more than mention her. I'm going to ask her to come live with us. She could rectify our financial dilemma straightaway, which is more than I can say for you."

  "Is that right?"

  "Yes, that's right."

  "Shut up, Melanie."

  "I won't. You dragged me into this mess, and you'll drag me out of it. I insist!"

  He'd had enough. Of her impudence, of her attitude, of her condescension. He climbed off the bed, and she whipped around, refusing to gaze upon him when he was nude. As she'd made explicitly clear, she found the male body repulsive and grotesque.

  He approached her from behind and squeezed her shoulder, forcing her to face him.

  "Drop down on your knees."

  "I won't."

  "Now!"

  Her antipathy was palpable, but he was resolved, and she grudgingly descended, which positioned her directly in front of his phallus. It began to swell, and she glanced away, unable to hide the fact that she was sickened by the sight.

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  "Somewhere in our vows, I heard the term obey," he stated. "We'll hit it off much better if you behave as you're told."

  "I've knelt as you demanded. What is it you want from me?"

  She was mutinous, a vicious adversary, and if he wasn't cautious, she'd likely strangle him in his sleep when he least expected it. "You must learn to do something with that mouth besides sass."

  He grinned, more aroused than he'd been in a very long while.

  ******************

  Regina stared out the window of the modest, dreary house Christopher had purchased for her. The barren Cornwall coast stretched to infinity, the wind lashing the rocky shore, a few scraggly trees bending with the onslaught. She spun away, wearied by her view of the clouds blowing in, of the icy rain that never ceased.

  The hovel in which she'd resided years earlier, as a new bride, was located just down the road. How she'd hated that spot, and she couldn't quit obsessing over how short a distance she'd traveled in her life. She'd never actually believed Doncaster was hers, had always suspected that her fortunes could be reversed. In preparation for this very day, she'd hoarded her stashes of pilfered money, but it had been for naught.

  Stamford had recovered every farthing.

  Oh, to be brought down! By Stamford of all people. With her treacherous, disloyal son as his accomplice. The shame! The humiliation! How it galled! How it kindled her fury!

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  There was a rapping on the parlor door, and without waiting for permission, Edith Fitzsimmons entered, strutting in as though she owned the place. Stamford had sent her to stay with Regina, and she had instructions to manage Regina's household, to act as Regina's warden and jailer, to tattle and gossip regarding Regina's every move.

  When will you leave? Regina had once inquired.

  When Lord Stamford tells me I may, the bossy woman had proclaimed.

  Fitzsimmons held out a letter. "Lord Stamford has written. He's still searching for the silver candlesticks you stole from Doncaster. Are you ready to inform him as to where they are?"

  "Stamford can choke on a crow."

  Fitzsimmons smiled her grim smile. "It will be my pleasure to convey your response in my next report."

  She was enjoying Regina's incarceration, liking to brag how she'd befriended the harlot Selena Bella. Fitzsimmons relished the punishments Stamford dished out, and she never stopped haranguing as to how she wished Regina had suffered a more dire fate.

  Fitzsimmons turned to go, and Regina was tempted to let her depart without further discussion, but Regina yearned to have the final say, the last word. Fitzsimmons was entirely too insolent, too eager to help Stamford.

  Regina was anxious to bring her down a peg, to box her into a corner. There had to be a way to manipulate her, to gain the upper hand, but so far, Regina hadn't detected it.

  "I'm leveling another complaint," Regina said. She loat
hed it that others had hired her servants, that none of them were beholden to her for their wages. They were

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  disrespectful, curt, and slow. "An hour ago, I ordered a plate of petit fours, and I haven't received them."

  Edith chuckled maliciously. "We've used up our allotment of sugar. We can't afford more until the first of the month, when Stamford posts your check. There are no candies remaining, nor will any be prepared for you."

  "I demand that they be provided."

  "You may demand all you like, but they won't be supplied. We exist on a limited income. You'll have to make do without."

  Make do without. ...

  The comment reverberated through the room, and Regina shuddered. It was her worst nightmare coming true. She couldn't bear to be poor, couldn't tolerate scrimping and saving. She'd spent her life trying to avoid that very catastrophe.

  Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but Edith walked out, shutting the door with a firm click, leaving Regina to stew and plot revenge.

  ******************

  Pamela hovered behind a hedge at the Stamford town house, watching as the Doncaster coach pulled up to the curb.

  Chris... I've found you at last!

  Her emotions were at an all-time low. Where had he been? Why had he kept himself away from her? Didn't he know how much she loved him? Didn't he realize that their separation was killing her?

  They'd both imbibed of the magic potion. Surely, it had had some effect on him! He couldn't forsake her!

  She hated to be out and about, hated having people

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  recognize her, so she tugged on her hood, shielding her identity.

  Her black eyes had healed, but the bend in her nose, where Regina had broken it, would never disappear. It . was blatant, obvious, and whenever others espied it, they laughed and pointed, mortifying her by reminding her of the degrading assault.

  How her situation had plummeted since that ignominious evening!

  With Elliot wallowing in wedded bliss, he'd evicted her as a guest, so she'd been forced to seek asylum elsewhere. Regrettably, High Society could be brutal, and she'd quickly discovered how few friends she reallv had.