Upon Your Return

by Lavender, Marie

  His gaze on her was assessing, and her body heated beneath it.

  “You've bewitched me,” he murmured.

  Her lips parted on a note of surprise and gently he kissed her. She felt his hand briefly at her white throat, almost as if he tested her racing pulse. He captured her lips and she sunk into his sweet kiss.

  A stray hand traveled down her body, passed the hem of her skirt and he gently eased the fabric up her calf and thigh. With some shock, she realized what was happening. She wanted him; dear God, she wanted him, but she feared her inexperience would turn him away. His mouth smothered her protests. His fingertips danced lightly up her leg, pulling the skirt along, until he reached her hip. He abandoned the skirt and cupped the back of her knee to ease her thigh along the side of his body and pressed into the soft expanse of her pelvis. Her protests stilled then as she went deeper into the inferno he caused.

  His masculine need for her seemed overwhelming, but it answered a silent call her body had made. Fara was hot, her blood racing with a growing heat. She felt she would explode or go mad in mere moments if the ache within her was not satisfied. Heedless of anything else, she brought her leg up to hug his other side, following suit as he'd silently instructed her to do. His able hands worked at the buttons of her dress and then eased away the fabric. He loosened the laces of her corset and removed her shift. The cool air was upon her naked body and she almost had second thoughts before he began to touch her again. Fara moaned softly as he brought a thumb roughly across a dusky nipple, and then captured it with his mouth, tugging gently. She arched against the ministrations of his lips and tongue. He pulled away suddenly, and she grasped at his arm, instead getting handfuls of his shirt.

  “Darling,” he teased, “unless you want to be a selfish lover, you'll allow me to undress.”

  Instantly, she released him and watched as he stepped back from the bed, stripping himself of his shirt to expose a tanned and wide expanse of chest muscle and a flat, toned belly. Entranced, she whispered, “Grant, perhaps you should close the door.”

  He chuckled and complied. Returning to her, he unbuttoned his slacks and pulled off his boots, shucking both, and then slid his bare body over hers once more. She swallowed, her eyes wide and searching his searing gaze. His manhood was frighteningly close. “Will it be all right?” she whispered.

  Grant laughed softly. “'Twill be glorious. Before it's over, you will beg for more.”

  She liked the sound of that and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You are awfully certain of your ability to perform.”

  He grinned. “Mademoiselle, there is no one else to take my position. I am certain of that now, and I will relinquish it to no man.” He nuzzled her neck and kissed her lips gently. “Any objections?”

  “You are naked, Grant. You hold me at a disadvantage.” She sighed. “However, none come to mind.”

  He nodded and kissed her again. “Let the battle begin. May the best man...or woman win.”

  “The stakes are high.” Fara moaned as Grant locked his lips onto her breast again. “Hmm. What are we fighting for?” She arched her body against him as his fingertips found the soft, flame-covered skin at the apex of her thighs. She gasped, writhing beneath him.

  “Our hearts,” he whispered.

  Well, she held one over him for that. The heat built inside her body and her mind abandoned her momentarily, leaving only her carnal instincts. “Grant,” she moaned. “Grant, please.”

  He drove into her, that thin barrier of skin pierced. There was a dull pain, but there was also a reward in what they were doing. She cried out with each stroke and he took her lips almost possessively. She felt his hesitance, however, the care he took for her inexperience. Her senses reeled with the flavor of his mouth, the caresses upon her skin, the motions he made.

  Fara felt him deep within her. When he set a faster pace, she met it with her need for him. Then, she wrapped her legs about him and arched her back as he drove into her again and again. A movement came within the recesses of her soul and she cried out, clutching him to her. Then she heard him groan against her ear.

  Many minutes went by and the rapid beating of their hearts lessened into a steady rhythm. “Grant,” she whispered.

  He lifted his head. “Hmm?”

  For mere seconds, she was not able to find her voice. It cleared as she met his gaze. “You were my first, but...”

  He nodded, his eyes teasing. “I believed you when you told me, Fara. There was also sufficient evidence.” He withdrew from her, but held her close against his hard body.

  Of course he'd known, she thought stupidly, but it wasn't what she really wanted to know from him. “Oui...and what about you?”

  She noted his hesitance as he stared at her. Of course, she was not looking for a list or any such nonsense, but she thought it might behoove her to have an idea of his experience. The longer he waited, the more the disquiet began in her.

  “I won't lie to you, Fara. There have been...other times. They weren't exactly honorable though.”

  Fara frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. “Men have insatiable appetites when it comes to making love...”

  She nodded, finally understanding. “Ah, but it is not love you are speaking of.”

  “That is true. I'm speaking of something very casual and sometimes for profit.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. Her voice tight, she choked out, “Dames de nuit? Prostitutes?” Visions of the kind of women she had encountered in that gentleman's club swam through her mind.

  Again, he seemed hesitant to give her more details. She thought perhaps he felt it was none of her business how he had gone about such things.

  “Oui. It was all I could do at times. Most respectable women will not consort with men physically unless marriage is discussed, or until after the actual event. But, France is liberal and it is mostly by choice.”

  She nodded. “I see. And what of us? What we have done...”

  He placed an index finger upon her lips. “...is not casual in any way and definitely not for profit. Please, Fara. You must believe me. This is not temporary. I respect you as a woman of society should be respected. And this means a lot more to me than any tryst from my past.”

  She swallowed. “I believe you.”

  Fara lowered her eyes to stare at the scar beneath his ribs, the scar she felt responsible for. Her fingertips traced it gently.

  “Fara, in no way do I want you to begin to feel remorse for what happened. To hell with society. Why must you feel guilt when I've made you my mistress?”

  He'd emphasized the word as if he felt completely responsible even though she had consented. She released a long breath and met his gaze. “You forget that I'm known in many social circles, and now will be known as a woman--”

  “Who consorted with an outcast. I understand that. But, if you feel remorse, you're hurting yourself, your reputation. The least you can do is blame me, hate me...”

  “Please stop.” Her fingertips rested on his lips. Surprise entered his expression, lighting his dark eyes. “I could not hate you, Grant. Don't you see? You're a part of me now. And as for blame, it goes to the both of us. We started it, and we can continue or end it if necessary. But, I do not want it to end. It may sound sentimental but it's true. Grant, I do not regret a moment of what happened between us. We'll take the responsibility now, won't we?”

  His expression remained one of surprise. “What are you asking? You want to make this public?”

  When they attended the theater earlier, they had in a way publicized their connection to one another. But, she suggested something more solid. It was one thing to let people gossip and assume they were a couple, but admitting it was entirely different. There was still Monsieur Bordeaux to worry about.

  “I do not request a commitment of any kind...just that you confirm their suspicions, if there are any.” Her voice wavered as she said it.

  “There will be, Fara. It is inevitable.
However, I would not expose you like that.”

  In a gesture of reassurance, she caressed his cheek. “I know your intentions are honorable...” She managed a small smile. “I want to make this right though.”

  He shook his head. “The only way to make this right is to be honorable. I must marry you.”

  He obviously carried much guilt for what was between them. She shivered at the tone of his voice, which did not at all sound happy. Then she looked into his eyes. Each held compassion for her position in society, but, more than that, determination for doing the right thing. Surely he merely acted out of personal duty, she hoped. “You are sincere?”

  * * * *

  He had seen the fear in her eyes before and he knew he'd put it there. Now, he only saw pity. He frowned. Why pity, of all things? He had to do right by her. It was the honorable thing to do. “Quite,” he replied as confirmation.

  She swallowed. “The question is, do you want to marry me?”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Why tie yourself to someone like me? I would always be dependent on you. After all, I am only a woman.”

  “It's a husband's duty to provide for and protect his wife.”

  “And love. What of that?”

  His expression was blank, lost. “Love?” Now she was inquiring such a thing when he only wanted to be honorable. Besides, most women didn't consider love before the prospect of marriage but could accept it as something that happened naturally afterward. Fara was different; he'd always known that. “Love will perhaps occur in time. We both are aware that there is no indifference between us physically. And you admitted to feeling something more.”

  “And after a time, what if my belly became filled with child...if I became pregnant?”

  “It would be expected in marriage,” Grant said only.

  She pushed at him and when he moved reluctantly to accommodate her, she looked away. The sheet slipped to expose her breasts, but she seemed to pay no heed. “Damn!” She looked up and he watched her with some concern. “You don't understand! There would be a child in the equation.”

  He missed the feel of her soft, giving body already. “Of course.”

  “Someone we would love unconditionally.”

  “Oui,” he agreed softly. He did not understand the point she tried to make.

  “A child, Grant! Your child…your blood! How could you love the child and not the mother?”

  He tried to maintain control over his own emotions. If she remained upset and near hysteria, he did not know how to handle that. “I would, of course, respect her. She would be the mother of my child.” Then he saw the tears in her eyes and he felt helpless in the matter. She wanted so much more than he could give at the moment.

  “Just respect...must you be so formal?” He opened his mouth to speak. She did not allow him to answer, but went on. “And what of happiness? Would you be happy?”

  He said flatly, “My happiness does not matter.”

  “Doesn't it? If I were to marry someone, I would want to have some kind of feeling for that person. I would be able to feel happy or sad for that person. I could feel fear for him. It's a beginning. The basis of love, oui?” She sighed. “Don't you see? Your happiness does matter. I could not marry you if I knew you would be unhappy for the rest of your life.”

  He sought to understand her fear and confusion, to console her about the matter. “Do you think I've been unhappy thus far?” He felt her shiver, but he was afraid to touch her, afraid he would do something wrong.

  “I do not know.”

  “I have not known such happiness for a long time. When you're in my arms, I know I've found my way back to it.” And he waited with bated breath, hoping she would accept his honesty.

  “Our relationship would only be physical,” she replied in a bitter tone.

  “Our relationship would be consecrated by God and legal. Is that not enough?”

  “No. I would only marry for love, not just for the sake of my reputation. Love is what I need. And I know you can't give that to me right now. I accept that and I won't expect it from you.”

  Grant took her words in with a feeling of melancholy, torn between two chosen paths. Well, he could give her love easily if he'd only let down his guard to allow her in. But, that would mean telling her more than he'd planned. “So, it's finalized. That's it?”

  She sighed. “I don't want it to end. I just want the here and now.”

  “Even with my proposal?”

  “Please do not approach the issue of marriage again unless you mean it.” Then she reached his side again.

  He pulled her against his body and inhaled the lavender scent of her hair. His mind spun with her sudden decision. “I promise,” he whispered.

  Minutes later, as she slept in his arms peacefully, a lock of hair fell across her forehead. He pulled her closer to him and sighed. Lord, she was a difficult, complicated woman. But, he seemed to be attracted to that kind. He wanted to give her love more than anything and convince her that he would be ecstatic about marriage to her. However, there was still the problem of loyalty.

  She knew of his tendency to be impulsive out of fear for the safety of his men, but she did not know the source of it. She wasn't aware of his disloyalty to the emperor. If she knew, surely she would have nothing to do with him. And then, where would he be? Nowhere...searching aimlessly for the right place, the home he'd always wanted, and somehow he knew that place would always be in Fara's arms. God, admire the man who could detach himself emotionally from a woman. For in this case...with this woman, he didn't have the strength to do that.

  The last thing in the world he wanted was to hurt her in any way, and he would not hesitate to kill anyone who thought himself man enough to do so. Yes, there was a true inevitability that he would hurt her through his betrayal to the government, but he would do everything in his power to prevent it. She'd been right; he'd only wanted happiness, and now that he had a small piece of it, he wasn't willing to let it go.

  Chapter Eleven

  Grant was handling business affairs in town the next day when he heard a man speak of Andrew Spencer. He waited until the merchant walked away before he approached his valet, who had been nearby. “Where is he headed, Eric?”

  “Capitaine, your informant tells me Monsieur Spencer is leaving France.”

  “Oui?” He gripped Eric's shirtsleeves. “Tell me where!”

  “Louisiana, Capitaine. He's going home. Since you've returned, he has seen that there is no longer a need for his services.”

  He had already dismissed the man, but he wasn't sure he would give up so easily. He let go of his manservant. “I am sorry, Eric. I was out of line perhaps.”

  The man grinned slyly. “It is sometimes amazing what a man will do for the love of a woman.”

  “Oui,” he agreed softly and turned away. “My horse, Eric?”

  “René will be brought shortly.”

  “Merci.” He had only to wait five minutes before a stable boy appeared with his horse. He took no time in forgetting to inspect the animal's care as he swung up into the saddle and motioned to Eric. “You will not expect me tonight, is that clear?”

  “Oui, Capitaine. Maitre will be visiting a friend.”

  He nodded and kicked his destrier into a gallop, and he rode straight to the Bellamont dwelling.

  * * * *

  Fara had spent the day catching up on reading the books her uncle had never allowed her to read. After reading Utopia, she began to think about society and how chaotic the haute monde really was. Why was she always coerced into doing the right thing because of social norms? Though her relationship with Grant was less than conventional, it was the only thing in her life she felt she had any decision about at all.

  In the study, Fara had also come across the current events no one had allowed her to know about: the situation with Lamartine and the enemies France gathered. And as always, social unrest was a problem. The class system in the country was an issue for the lower class and
now more than ever, her own class fought to diminish them entirely, or at least to squander them enough so that nothing was ever questioned.

  She knew in an odd way, she bore some guilt in the repression of the lower classes. She was, after all, an heiress, and because of her wealth, there were servants in the house that lived on less than she ever had. All of her life, her father and uncle had made business deals with the kind of men who ran factories, reputable businesses at the time, which probably forced many people into poor conditions. It was funny how life turned out, how one existence that seemed so hard or inconvenient could be put into perspective.

  Although she had had to conform to society in all ways and would most likely have to marry someone she did not love, it was even worse for the lower class. They lived in wretched conditions, worked without rest, and for what? Mere survival. It was an unfortunate turn modern society had taken. Most people in her own class would not even understand the meaning of the word 'survival', and doing anything necessary to live. It made some sense why women turned to prostitution, even though there had to be other options. It didn't seem fair that she was privileged while being taught to remain ignorant of the problems that surrounded her, and at the same time there were people on the streets who struggled to live to the next day.

  Fara stood and approached the painting on the far wall of the study. An attractive man with broad shoulders and dark hair looked out through brown eyes as he held his wife possessively against him. The woman bearing red hair and clear blue eyes stared forward, but also a smile played on her full lips as if she carried a secret that only the two of them knew. It was obvious the way she settled against him that their love had always been true and perhaps intense. Fara almost felt that love emanate from the portrait. “Mamére, papére...” she whispered brokenly.

  She had loved her parents no matter how young she had been when they had left her life. Bringing back those memories...oh, it was a difficult journey to sift through the despair in order to find the happy child she once was. She glanced up at her mother. She had always known her mother wasn't French. Maybe she had been Irish or Austrian. It wasn't only the red hair, which surely gave it away, but also the shade of skin...ever so white and fragile like a cloud. No one had ever said her mother was from another place entirely. She knew instinctively that part of her heritage was foreign; it was perhaps something she would never comprehend. Her mother may have been highborn, but definitely not a descendant of France. Perhaps that was part of the reason her uncle had resented her mother so much.