Passion

by Gayle Eden

  “—Likely, I wouldn’t. “ Caroline assured her and sat too.

  Gabriella asked softly, “How long have you loved him?”

  “Over ten years.” Harry raised her head, smiling a bit at their shocked faces. “I was a mere girl when I first saw him, and though I wasn’t always in London, or England, and I didn’t see him for years. When I did, I questioned why. Trust me. A woman of my intellect does not like men—who are like that. Nevertheless, it just grew. He is beautiful. However, it was the pain too. I sensed it. I felt like I wanted to reach into the cold and warm him. I wanted to hold him and…” She shook her head and finished, looking at Gabriella. “I wanted to free him. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. It does.” Gabriella smiled.

  Sitting back then, her head leaned back, Harry murmured, “I can’t be around him. I told him not to come back here.”

  “Because you thought I—“

  “Only partly.” Harry raised her head. “Mostly because…I know what he will do with his life, and if not you Caroline, then someone equal his rank and rep. In any case, I will not be some shadow woman in a man’s life. I don’t mind never marrying, but I won’t be hidden and made to feel…”

  “—Do me a favor, my friend.” Caroline cut her off and stood. “Don’t assume. People did that with me. Even I, did not know what I would do until the moment came. Jules likely is the same.”

  Gabriella stood. “You will stand up with Caroline week after next? They’ve moved up the wedding, given the duke’s health, and Raith will be leaving afterwards.”

  “You’re her half-sister.”

  As Harry stood to walk them out, Gabriella returned, “Yes. However, a best friend is different. From what she has told me, you have been a vital part of Caroline’s discovering herself. Despite this recent set of events, I think the both of you bring something to each other’s lives. You should be by her side.”

  Harry hugged Caroline at the door, scolding her over the broken lock. They all laughed. However, on the street, Harry said to Gabriella while she held Caroline’s hand, “Neither of us had a mother in our lives, and though I tease her, Caroline has a poise and self-possession I envy. And she’s loyal.” The woman smiled. “She’s the first woman friend I’ve truly trusted. It feels like we should have been sisters.”

  Caroline got all weepy. Gabriella said before they went to the hack, “There you are, then. I get to see to details and simply enjoy the ceremony.”

  On the way home, she told Caroline, “Maybe you should send Lord Stoneleigh a note.”

  “I plan to.” Caroline winked at her.

  ** * * *

  A week later, Harry had received her invite to the “family dinner” that would be hosted by Stoneleigh. As best friend to the bride, it was expected she would attend. It was not a stretch to realize that Caroline had likely told Jules she was back in London.

  Nevertheless, most of that day was taken up with her trip to the dressmaker to finish the gown she would wear to the wedding—a lavender silk in plain lines. Caroline’s dress would be stunning. Harry was tired and a bit preoccupied when she arrived home. Her hands were full of packages. She climbed the stairs and entered her room.

  Placing the boxes down, she removed her cloak, smoothing her summer gown of peach linen with a sigh, and then brushing her windblown hair. She sat on the bed to remove her walking boots, and had done so when the door to her bathing room opened.

  Harry stared at Jules, at his beautiful face, his nude, save a towel, body.

  Placing her palms beside her hips, she followed him with her eyes until he stood right before her.

  His hand provocatively on the towel, he murmured, “I know you told me not to come back, but I couldn’t help myself.”

  Mouth dry, she glanced up at him, her gaze on those sensual green eyes though fully aware the moment the towel was loosed and dropped.

  She watched his lips, saw the heat in his eyes when he husked, “Will you let me pleasure you, Harry?”

  Jules sat down on his haunches then, his hands touching her legs, fingering the silk, and easing it up slowly. “I shall go away, if 'tis what you want.”

  Seduced, enthralled by him, she thought—(as if) I could turn away this beautiful man. Even did she not love him.

  His palms skimmed under and up her legs. He leaned forward, eyes dipping to her mouth, “I’ve missed you. Do you know what a revelation that is?”

  Finally wetting her lips, she parted her legs for him, trying to play at her usual boldness. “Yes, actually. I know your self imposed aloofness, Jules.”

  “You also know, there is nothing planned or expected between myself and Caroline.”

  “Of course.”

  His hands reached her thighs. They were warm, strong.

  Fingers moving to tease the strip of curls over her sex, he drawled, “We betray no one, cross no lines, by being lovers, Harry.”

  “No lines but my own.” She sucked in a breath when he touched between the curls. Harry stopped his hand and nudged him back so she could stand. She disrobed and lay on the bed in her stockings, loving that flash of his masculine form when he joined her.

  He half sat near her hip, his hand and fingers lazily busy between her legs.

  “You have some objection to being my lover?” He used her slick dampness to glide his finger up, using the pad to circle her clit. Leaning on his elbow, watching her face, Jules knew exactly what he was doing.

  “No. save that you yourself said, you have no mistress. That doesn’t leave a place for lovers either, Stoneleigh.” She panted and then arched, reaching down to move his hand, lowered it, so that one of his fingers sank inside of her. “Oh, yes.”

  He gave her several moments of thrusting before he got to his knees and spread hers, dipping his head down to worry her clit with his tongue and tease her with his fingers.

  Harry was burning hot, aroused, and half out of her head when she realized he’d said something to her.

  “What?”

  “I said, you are in love with me, Harry.”

  She froze, and then she pushed him away and sat up, staring at him.

  He laved his lips and again got up to pour her a drink. Handing it to her, ignoring the fact he was fully aroused, his sex flushed and thrust.

  Harry drank it, eyeing his face. “You’re arrogant Stoneleigh.”

  “Yes.” He sat down by her hip and smiled. After taking the empty glass, he began lightly fingering and kissing her nipples.

  She squirmed.

  Jules lifted his head. “You’re aroused, hot, and hungry. You aren’t a woman to deny yourself pleasure.”

  “Neither am I able to ignore…”

  “….That I know what you feel for me?”

  For the first time in her life, her face flushed. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “I saw it. I saw it when you slapped me.”

  She sucked in a breath, feeling her body tremble. “I see. Well, do not assume anything I feel guides my life. I won’t be secondary, hidden, partaking of some…clandestine existence.”

  His fingertips rolled her nipples. After leaning down to kiss each one, Jules stretched, kissed her quite sensual and breathlessly, then he whispered in her ear, “I have never in my life wanted a woman like I want you. I have never felt so challenged, so excited, so aroused. You do that to me, Harry. You make me feel more than I ever have, and pleasuring you, watching you…stirs me.”

  She groaned and closed her eyes, her hands coming to his hair. “That is not… fair, Stoneleigh.”

  He laughed and bit her ear, his hand smoothing over her hip, and then finding that spot between her legs again. Breathing in that ear, he murmured, “Wouldn’t you rather climax than talk?”

  He moved down and did not give her time to think or speak. Jules laved, kissed, pleasured her, and moaned when she shuddered through her climax. Then moving up between her lovely legs, he looked into her dreamy eyes, feeling his whole body sensitize as each inch of his sex sank into
the silken heat of hers.

  Those eyes rolled back a moment, and she held to him.

  Jules held deep inside though he wanted to thrust. He savored the moment too. He felt the ripples, the squeeze of her muscles.

  Once he began to move, he was hard pressed to stick to his plans. But at a moment, he got to his knees, holding her hips to him and catching his breath, he stared at the woman under him, at the emotions in her eyes, and the damp mouth where she had kissed his shoulder and throat.

  “I’m yours, if you want me, Harry. I want to be.”

  “Jules.” Her gaze was suddenly wide and seeking.

  He smiled, a bit awkward. “I have never said…I love you.”

  “Do you?” Her hands skimmed up his arms.

  “I must. I have never felt so good, alive, as when I am with you. And so wretched, when you went away.”

  “I don’t believe you.” However, her gaze said she desperately wanted to.

  He began to move, thrust, circle his hips, holding her gaze while he did so. “Don’t reject me, Harry. Please,” The request, the sound of it, was so unlike the arrogant and aloof, Stoneleigh that it broke down every wall inside Harriet. It was a plea, admittance from a man who needed his pride because of his past.

  She felt tears, could not help it.

  He leaned up, thrusting hard. It was emotional, fast, deep, until they lay side by side, panting for breath.

  Harry leaned up, staring at his flushed face, the closed lashes. “I have loved you for years, Jules. No matter how much I protest, or what I say, I would spend my life doing so.”

  His lashes lifted, eyes a clear green.

  She swallowed and touched his cheek. “I fantasized about you.”

  His grin almost made her want to smack him, until he returned, “I’ve been doing that since that first night you pleasured yourself for me. You excite me, Harry.”

  Leaning up, he pushed her to her back, saying quietly, more serious, “I’ve lived my life very deliberately, Harry. Someday…I will explain to you why. You brought impulse, passion, that something that was missing to it. I am sorry I did not notice you before. You are quite the loveliest and graceful creature I have ever seen. I cannot go back. I can only live in the now and plan differently for a future.” He cupped her cheek. “I’ve had a busy week too—but for a month, I’ve been falling in love with you.”

  She did not stop the tears, and did not stop Stoneleigh from gathering her, holding her for the next hour. He held her, as no other man, and Harry knew he would do so for the rest of their lives. She would spoil Stoneleigh with affection, because she knew in her heart, arrogant, cold, on the surface, he needed to know and feel that she loved him.

  It was dark, later in the night, when they arose and managed something to eat, and sharing of a coffee. Back in her rooms, Harry tossed everything out of the chair and set him in it.

  Herself, dressed in his unbuttoned shirt, she sat astride him, her hands touching his face, fingers sifting through his rich black mane. He was too beautiful for words, and freeing himself to passion, it melted her inside, his expressions….

  His sex deep inside of her, Harry held his head back, laving the full veins and sinew of his neck, and feeling the flex of his hands on her backside as it aroused him further. She was sexually rough, aggressive, and purged as many of her emotions out in the next half hour, as she gave to him leave to enjoy her. She bit and teased, pulled his hair, and held his hands on the arms so he could not touch her while she ground and lifted and rode him.

  Teeth clinched, face a study of erotic pleasure, with eyes glittering, Jules cursed when she summoned his climax. It was intense, amazing and dizzying.

  “You’ll marry me,” he murmured holding her in the bed spoon fashion.

  Harry grunted.

  He said bluntly, “Wed me, or be my mistress.”

  “I’ll be your mistress.”

  Under the covers, he fit his hand between her legs. “Meeting two or three times a month, when we could do this anytime of the day or night. Are you sure, Harry? I thought you an adventurous woman. I was looking forward to you showing me just what you like…perhaps exploring my own…”

  “I’ll marry you.”

  He grunted. “You made that sound like a difficult choice.”

  “I don’t want to become someone else, Stoneleigh. I like who I am. I won’t stop living the life I love and enjoying the things I do…”

  “I’ve no intention of changing you. It’s your uniqueness that attracts and fascinates me.”

  She leaned up and looked over her shoulder at him.

  He said as if reading her mind, “No. I do not need a long betrothal to be sure. I am well aware we will clash on occasion. I would wager, we will argue often and passionately. But when we aren’t, we will be exploring the world in a new way, and discovering each other—with that same passion too.”

  He turned her and held her to him a moment. “You think I don’t need you, Harry. But I do. I need you more than I can articulate, in more ways than I can….”

  She knew that. She had always known that. “Next month then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not fancy, just the family?”

  He rolled her to her back and kissed her, hard, deep, possessive. “We’ll wed as soon as Blaise and Caroline return from their honeymoon. If you like, we will wed in the country.”

  “I’ve a lovely little cottage…”

  He laughed. “No. At my estate.”

  “Very well.”

  Because she conceded, and he knew how hard it was going to be for either of them to learn to accede to the wishes of the other, Jules turned her to her stomach and covered her, kissing her nape, biting it, before he murmured, lifting her hips up to rub against his sex… “I’ll reward you for acceding to my wishes, since you are intelligent enough to know your own mind, I know ‘tis because it’s something I desire, and something my title demands.”

  Because he was filling her with his flesh, Harry moaned, “Does that mean I get anything I want?”

  “Yes.”

  She got to her knees, groaning through his first thrusts before arching her neck and panting, “I want your children, Jules. I want to hold your babies…and I want romp and play and…”

  Oh, Christ. Jules lost it, driving into her, losing himself in the fantasy and in the promise that the future could be better than the past. That love—would make it possible.

  One year later.

  Gabriella stood by his Grace, Duke of Coulborn’s, grave. He had passed two days earlier and been buried at his estate an hour ago.

  She felt the fall breeze, welcomed it, on her skin and against her veil. She could hear babies fretting and knew that Harry, now Duchess of Coulborne and Lady Caroline, had their hands full with their heir sons. Guests had filled the Duke’s house and visitors came the past two weeks, thus few of them had any sleep or rest.

  She had arrived whilst the Duke was sick, with her father, to try to help whilst Coulborne and his sons put everything in order. Artis wanted his wishes carried out, and he wanted to leave something to his grandchildren and any future children. She would never forget her private meeting with him. He had had a maid bring her to him in the dead of night, and sitting on the bedside in her robe, holding his hand, she had known what his “Thank you,” was for. He had likely seen the note that she had written to Raith—and known the one that drew him to London was in her hand.

  She had simply kissed his hand and smiled at him, knowing in her heart of hearts that he understood the why, and no words were needed to explain the joy he’d felt in bringing his family together, healing old wounds, and righting what wrongs he could.

  Raith had arrived for the funeral, having returned from Spain in the dead of night. She scarcely saw him, being busy trying to assist Caroline and Harry, and make herself useful to the staff.

  In the past year, whilst the married couples honeymooned, made their heirs, and started their lives, she had traveled some with her fa
ther. David had met a young widow in Bristol who had turned his head. Mari was obviously enthralled by the Duke too, and though ten years his junior, she fell headlong for him. She was attractive, dark hair, dark eyes, and though only minor titles were in her bloodlines, she had a loving, giving, and open nature, that Gabriella knew her father would bask in.

  The night before Artis died, his sons stayed with him every hour. Gabriella, knowing more of their history now, could only feel it a blessing—right—that they had healed and been together with him those final hours. Who knows what would have become of them, what lives of regret and mistakes would have come, had they not.

  Rain scented the air. She turned away, noting that everyone was far ahead, on their way back to the estate house. All save Raith, who stood awaiting her.

  As she walked to meet him, Gabriella noted the changes she had not been able to since he arrived. His hair was silver now, slightly longer. It enhanced his dark eyes, the swarth of his skin, and seemed to soften some of the bitter lines of his face—as much as that peace in his eyes did. She knew instinctively that he had enjoyed his time in Spain. She was glad he did not write. It was difficult though, being without him.

  His coat flapped in the breeze. He reached for her black gloved hand, tucking it in his arm as they walked back.

  He did not speak until they almost reached the house. By then a light rain had started.

  “Do you know what he asked me?”

  She glanced at him.

  He smiled slightly. “He wanted to know if my mother loved him.”

  Gabriella sighed.

  Raith murmured, “She did. She does still. She will always love him.”

  “How are you sisters?”

  “Quiet.” He laughed. “Convent bred—and very quiet. However, uncle is not. My mother’s husband is a sober man.”

  They reached the house. She excused herself. Servants were either serving food or seeing guests off. She slipped to her rooms and removed the veil, and braided her hair around her head. Smoothing the black dress, Gabriella left her chambers intending to go below—but encountered Raith on the landing.