Passion

by Gayle Eden

  Making a foray down her again, he suckled her breasts for a long time, rolling her nipples with his tongue, pulling, laving, and letting them beg for his attention. When he had kissed down to her stomach, she parted her legs.

  He peered up at her through half shielding lashes.

  Her head was back, body arching.

  Jules spread her legs wider, parted her curls, and used his tongue the way she had used her fingertip on her aroused clit, liking her scent, her flavor, and the utterly soft flesh of her there. He learned by her movements, her sounds, and his efforts were rewarded with a climax from Harry that came with low moans and her hands pulling at his hair.

  This time when he positioned between her legs, he folded her knees high, went deep, and took his time. Circling his hips slowly then pulling back, doing it repeatedly, the head of his sex went deep. Jules savored sex as he never had and felt every second of carnal pleasure. He eased back enough to kiss her, and groaned as she suckled his tongue to the cadence of their bodies.

  Jules stayed inside of her longer, and did not rush his climax. He then spent an hour kissing and caressing her. He watched, listened, felt her feminine responses to pleasure. He found it stirred and aroused him when she bit her lip and arched. He loved the way her eyes shone looking into his.

  Harry was affectionate, always touching him, stroking, and whispering things he would not have thought would feel the way they did hearing it. There was a combination of her sexual hunger, sweetness, and the aggressive woman, who would murmur when she wanted more, harder, or asked him to touch her, that Jules enjoyed more and more as the night wore on.

  Just before dawn, when he would leave and have that money for Sir George, he sat in the warm back kitchen, having helped her prepare a simple breakfast and brew fresh coffee. Harry was dressed in a man’s shirt, nothing else, and other than bathing again, finger combing her hair, she had not fussed with her appearance. Yet, her face glowed and her intelligent eyes shone. Sitting across from him, the evidence of his kisses still had her lips puffed. She had his passion marks on her throat. Jules realized—she was beautiful.

  She caught him studying her and arched her brow. “You’ve the oddest expression on your face, Stoneleigh.”

  He laughed in the process of sipping from his cup, and then lowered it. “Do I?”

  Her own cup cradled, her gaze skimmed him, coming back to his eyes. “You—do not keep a mistress or have affairs.”

  He lost his own smile and glanced away from her, finally finishing his coffee. Yes. That was true, and that was what he had said to her. Jules stood, regarding her once more while he tied his cravat and pulled on his jacket. “I can’t quite decide if you brought that up because you think less, or more of me, Harry.”

  She snorted, getting to her feet. Her back was to him when she said, “I think of you, Stoneleigh. To either of us….that’s enough to be disturbing.”

  Jules studied her a moment and then walked over and leaned down, softly kissing her nape.

  She whirled and slapped him. Hard.

  The sound hung in the small kitchen—stayed, in the air whilst the sounds of carriages and coaches could be heard outside the window.

  His glass-green eyes holding hers, her fingerprints staining his patrician cheekbone, Jules had instinctively grabbed her by the arms on that slap, and he did not loose her just yet.

  Fire, and tears, in her eyes, her breathing rough, Harry grit, “That is for betraying Caroline. For you, and for me. It matters not a whit why, or to what degree. A friendship should mean something—it should mean more than we’ve made of it.”

  Fingers flexing on her upper arms, Jules let his hands fall from her, his gaze though, unable to look from the emotions in her eyes.

  Then, Harry’s hand covered her mouth. She shook her head, as if she could not believe what she had just done.

  Dropping it, she whispered, “Other wrongs or people’s assumptions, dictates we obey, does not make it right. All of my life, I have lived with honesty, prided myself, on a lack of subterfuge—or pretenses. My relationships have been honest. Until you—.”

  She swallowed and licked her lips where two crystal drops rolled over them. “I have been right here, right there, in your sight for years—and you never saw me…never saw it. And whilst you remained the icy, arrogant, Stoneleigh I could prod and mock and hide behind that indifference you showed.” She dashed the tears from her cheeks roughly, “But you’ve touched me, kissed me, and made love to me. In the passion, we stripped each other to the bone. And I couldn’t pretend...”

  Turning her back to him again, she braced her hands on the edges of the heavy iron sink, her eyes looking out the dust-streaked window. “I won’t become what I most loathe, Jules. I would rather be an honest whore, than a woman who pretends for everyone else. I know what you will be, what your life will be.”

  She sighed, shuddered, and then rasped, “What threw us in each other’s lives so intimately is over. I shall leave for a while. Don’t, come back here, again.”

  Jules stared at her for long moments. “You started this fire, Harry.”

  “Yes.” She rasped. “I had you to myself. Intimate. Alone. I captured your attentions. I did that before I knew you and Caroline... so I am a fool.” She laughed pitifully. “But no. Any fool knows you are perfect for each other. Even if you are not. Even if….” She shook her head. “The point is deception. Pretense. A life I refuse to partake of, and one your façade of control demands. It is fortunate that you do not have mistresses or affairs. I could not…with you, Jules. I cannot.”

  Silence settled again. At length he turned and quietly left. Jules went home and withdrew the money from his safe, and was in the park when Sir George made the pick up. Standing a bit distant, hands in his coat pockets and aware some of the first riders were entering the paths, Jules nodded slightly when Sir George passed him. Sir George gave a slight wave.

  Walking to his carriage a bit later, he wondered why he did not feel a great sense of relief. Where was that absence of tension and the, all is perfect in my world again, sensation? Where was the usual things about money and power and rep making a man untouchable that he could tell himself— and believe them…

  Jules could consider where he had spent the night, and how he’d felt with Harriet—how he’d felt in that cramped kitchen looking into a woman’s eyes for the first time in his life, and seeing real emotions—feeling her emotions. A part of him quickened at knowing someone felt something that… intense, for him—but aside from that, was the raw truth. He would have gone to Harriet’s even had she not given him that note.

  Jules had sensed Harriet wanted something from him, and he could not pretend to not understand what that was now. She had wanted him to feel, to see, to experience. He’d been pushing away any thoughts of his risk in following through on what he felt with her—he hadn’t thought of Harriet’s either, until he saw it in her eyes this morning.

  It all made sense now. Harry had, for however long—loved him. Where it took forever for him to accept that word from his father’s lips, it hit him to the core, seeing it, feeling it, from Harry. It washed over and through him and part of that sensation was because of her ability to see beyond what others could or cared to. He instinctively knew that. Somehow, Harry had always seen through him.

  Flashes of Harry’s residence went through his mind. Her huge library and collections. He could see her as young studying, reading, books being her friends, as they were his at one time. His refuge too. Learning…. Yes. For all Harry had a different sort of life, adventure and unconventional upbringing, she likely did not have stability. She mayhap felt the outsider because of her background. He knew all about distance. However, Harry had somehow made all the disadvantages, advantages, aside from wealth, which she was certain to inherit. She made more of it, so that her future would have substance and not just wealth. Harry had passion.

  Jules cancelled his appointments, bathed and slept. When he awoke, he made two trips into the shop
ping district, arriving at his father’s with tailor, barber, and other necessary men in tow.

  The Duke merely raised a brow as they proceeded to Raith’s apartments.

  Raith opened at his knock, leaning on his cane.

  “May we come in?”

  Looking at the individuals with him, the burdens they carried, Raith eyed him. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.” Jules smiled aridly, and when Raith stood back, they entered.

  In the next hour, Jules oversaw the barber sheering Raith’s hair, cutting it chin length and in a few layers that suited him. He would be completely silver before he turned 30, already there were streaks of it in the raven mane.

  He commented as the tailor began pinning precut cloth, “More in a Spanish style, I think. He has the bloodlines, and height, to carry it off.”

  Ignoring Raith’s less than pleasant smile, Jules looked at the sketches and then approved several. He picked out the subtle ruffle for the shirt collar and cuffs, then the formal gloves.

  When Raith was free from being poked and pinned, Jules led him out to the back garden. They took seats on a bench. He handed him a cheroot.

  Lighting his, Raith’s dark eyes skimmed to him. “What’s this all about?”

  “I’ll tell you in a moment.” Jules leaned back and puffed his own, looking over the garden before he asked quietly, “Tell me about her. About Suzette.”

  For a moment, there was utter silence. He looked at Raith’s hard profile, the stillness on his face, before Raith finally sighed and got to his feet.

  He walked just a bit away, as if he did not want Jules to see his face.

  Raith began, “I met her while out walking—a country lane that I somehow wondered onto. I just her and I would swear my heart stopped beating for a moment. She spoke to me first. I hardly knew what she said, something about, was I lost, or perhaps looking for her father? He was a Rector. Suzette was blond, pretty, and fresh as the sun. It all happened so fast, as if… I knew if I didn’t take it, hold onto….”

  Raith shook his head. “She was innocent, the kind of pure, gentle, and loving creature that makes you wonder at your own cynicism. I told her as little as possible about who I was. She was close to her family, yet I was restless…I…After we wed, I brought her to London. We….” He looked up at the sky a moment.

  Raith lowered his eyes and sighed heavily, his free hand rubbed his nape. “We had just consummated the marriage the night before she—went missing.” His voice nearly broke, “I should have told her, warned her, not to go out alone”

  Jules dropped his stare from Raith, looking around too. when Raith picked up the story…talking about searching for her, about his fears, terrors, nightmares, and then finding her much worse than any nightmare he’d had, Jules felt his own stomach churn and tighten. He could not imagine it. He could hear the horror in Raith’s voice. The description of her body was beyond macabre.

  When Raith fell silent, they finished their cheroots. To change the mood and banish some of the shadows, Jules talked about the investigations and the scandals coming from the aftermath.

  Raith said, “I deduced that Stratton had been obsessed with Natasha’s getting away from him. He had put that ring, the one I placed on Gabriella’s finger, on her.”

  “I’m sorry. There are no words adequate...” Jules murmured, “But no one mourns him. The more that comes out, the more of his evil is exposed. I do not think everyone who had dealings with him knew the extent of his depravity. However, I believe they are partly responsible. There’s been no word of his wife and brother in law, and one assumes they have fled.”

  Eventually, somewhat reluctantly, Jules began telling him about his meeting with sir George, since he’d figured Raith had taken those papers—and seen them.

  “Your…life is your affair.” Raith shrugged.

  “It’s not my life. It was an event—something that— happened. Nevertheless, I thank God you did get those papers, because it would not matter if it were once, or in what context—or if it was my sexual preference. It would have destroyed me, and….father too, no doubt. But you know what I mean.”

  “She took them. Gabriella,” Raith husked. “That’s what she was doing there. She was taking information out of his desk and safe, that I used—”

  Jules stared at Raith’s profile again. “Are you telling me she played mistress to him? A sadistic and depraved….”

  “Yes.”

  Seeing something awful on his face, Jules still muttered, “Tell me—that you did not plan that…”

  “It was the only way to get inside and get close to him.”

  “My, God, Raith.”

  “Christ…I don’t know. I don’t bloody know, if I made her… or not.” Raith turned and stared at him, his dark eyes dreadful in their starkness. “Before…I would have said no. She was with me for years, we planned it, worked toward that. And she agreed to it. She owed him for her mother’s sufferings and her own. She was never to let him abuse her…”

  Jules could not help the strangled grunt that came out at that.

  Raith uttered harshly, “I know. I know. I bloody know how it sounds now.”

  Shaking his head, just looking at him, Jules tried to picture all those years, all those years with that obsession and that plan for revenge between them. He could see it on his brother, and he could believe it. Nevertheless, he had seen that young and beautiful woman. Moreover, to do that, to plan it with Raith, to go that far and suffer so much…. Christ. They had both nearly died.

  “Tell me—about Gabriella.”

  Raith just stared at him, the sinew on his face like iron.

  “I see.” Jules read it, even if Raith tried to mask it.

  Yes, he could imagine that Raith was coming out of his nightmare, one he had seeped himself in and chosen to walk in with tunnel vision. He could imagine that perhaps Raith was seeing more clearly with distance. With the demon of his nightmares vanquished. He was fairly certain his brother could feel now too—where he could not, likely would not let himself, before.

  Jules stood and walked over near him. Reaching out, plucking a leaf, idly twirling it, he pondered how far Raith would let him go. He had already invaded Raith’s space and pushed much on him, and drawn a lot more out of him.

  Jules did not fool himself that Raith felt any kind of obligation to humor him. In many ways, it was easier for Raith and Blaise to find some common or middle ground, than he and Raith. They were complete opposites. Although, Jules was beginning to think that was less likely true. They simply handled their plights in different ways.

  “Caroline has gotten word that the Duke will be returning next week,” he informed quietly. “Gabriella is coming back with him. I would imagine that his Grace is going to have his usual birthday ball. We should all be there.”

  “Blaise…”

  “I’m going to see him, as soon as I leave here.” Jules looked up to see Raith was staring beyond at nothing. A muscle was twitching in his hard jaw.

  Jules murmured, “You’ve closed a terrible Chapter on your past. You have given Suzette rest. I think, you are starting to see it all as if looking back through new eyes. That is good, Raith. Some things we do are justified, others we cannot, and should not. Gabriella has gone through a nightmare of her own. A more intimate and fresher one, by the sounds of it. You have a life, something to begin, and no excuses for going back there—ever again. You have family, not just us, but your mother and uncle—land, an estate, a future here or there. What matters, is that you consider what you owe Gabriella.”

  When his brother glanced at him, Jules raised his brow. “You heard right. I said what you owe her. You were, and still are, older. And too—you need to let yourself feel what I think you are feeling for her, even at the risk of rejection.”

  Raith’s dark eyes moved over his face. “You are the least to be speaking of feeling or showing emotion, Stoneleigh.”

  “I know,” Jules, admitted it. “I’m realizing that denial doesn’
t make them impact out lives any less. In fact, the more we deny, the less we can have of any “real” life.”

  They went back inside. Jules saw his group off, having a short visit with his father before he left to get up with Blaise. He wanted his father to know though, that he would see all of his sons together, very soon.

  Artis had looked at him. “I’m proud of you, my boy.”

  Jules held a dry smile of his own. “Don’t be. Not yet, father. I’m very good at arrogantly demanding of others—even silently demanding, but...” He also muttered as he left, “Being reminded of ones limits, is quite leveling.”

  In the coach, Jules thought again of Harry and their night of passion. He admitted that he had not stopped thinking of her from that first encounter. It was inevitable, considering the chemistry between them.

  A year ago, he would have laughed at the idea of being attracted to her, or even caring if a woman was educated beyond the usual. He never thought about them. Women—did not matter to him as friends, not even as lovers really.

  He could not stop thinking about Harry.

  * * * *

  “Boxing?” Jules glared at his cousin, who was holding ice to his eye. “Are you both insane!”

  “No.” Ry laughed. “We had one good eye between us, and by God, he landed a hit right on it.”

  “Utterly stupid.” Jules shook his head.

  “Your brother has defended himself, and been a fighter most of his life. As blind, he is vulnerable, no matter what his size. It is imperative that he learn to use his senses, to re-train himself to fight. He cannot hide himself in his rooms, or this house, and live the life of an invalid. He’s a man in his prime.”

  “Where is he?” Jules was standing in the front parlor.

  “He’s above, in his chambers. The doctor is with him.”

  “Doctor? Christ—“

  “Don’t worry. I feel ghastly enough. And not because I hit him. I promise you, if I had gone easy on him, he would have beaten me to a bloody pulp. However, when he went down the last time, he said he felt as if something loosened in his eye. We thought it best to summon the doctor.”