Passion

by Lisa Valdez

  “Yes, isn’t it though.” He took her hand when she reached the bottom step. Passion quickly withdrew it once in the foyer. “May I observe, Mrs. Redington, that in your gray silk, you are like a flower about to bloom. Like a tropical bird about to take flight.”

  “Like a lizard about to shed its skin,” Aunt Matty of­fered.

  Passion clenched her jaw to keep from laughing.

  “Well, not quite like that,” Alfred said. “More like a butterfly about to shed its chrysalis.”

  “Yes, well, butterflies are lovely,” Aunt Matty agreed. “But you know, Mr. Swittly, at a recent meeting of the Na­ture Society, I observed a lizard shedding its skin. It was very beautiful.”

  “Really, Mistress Dare?”

  Passion felt as though she were at a tennis match, her eye moving from Alfred to her aunt and back again.

  “Why, yes. I even wrote an essay on the subject. Pas­sion said it was ‘very well phrased,’ and your aunts are going to submit it for publication in the Society newslet­ter.” Matty beamed. “Of course, there are no guarantees, but I’m certain that soon I shall be an authoress.”

  “How grand, Mistress Dare. You must sign a copy for me.”

  Leisurely fanning herself, Aunt Matty seemed to grow taller. “I should be delighted, Mr. Swittly.”

  Passion’s fingers twitched with impatience. How the two of them could go on!

  The next moment, she felt ashamed for the thought. Was she becoming a salacious wanton, thinking of noth­ing but her own satisfaction? She mustn’t let her carnal desires take precedence over the needs of others or im­pede upon the normal occurrences of life.

  She must be as patient and controlled as ever.

  “Of course, one never knows how these things shall go,” Aunt Matty continued. “I once read a brilliant essay on the contrary aspects of the garden snail—contrary be­cause it has such a delicate and beautiful spiral shell and yet it’s a voracious villain in the garden, isn’t it?”

  Passion’s neck stiffened with her efforts.

  Aunt Matty shrugged. “When I find one, I never know whether to leave it where it is or heave it over the garden wall. But if I did that, I would be infecting my neighbor’s roses, wouldn’t I? That is, if the poor thing survived. Be­cause I might just have dashed it all to pieces, mightn’t I?”

  Passion’s shoulders tensed. She pursed her lips shut.

  Aunt Matty sighed and shook her head. “What a quandary.”

  Passion drew a deep breath as she observed Alfred Swittly’s confused frown. Poor man. He was unused to her aunt’s meandering mind.

  “I confess, mistress, that I’ve never given such consid­eration to the common garden snail. However, from this day forward, I shall view them with a new sympathy.”

  Passion grit her teeth and drove her nails into the palms of her hands.

  “Very good, sir. Very good.” Aunt Matty touched his arm. “Would you care to see it now?”

  He bent nearer. “See what, mistress?”

  “My essay on the beauty of the shedding lizard, of course. Would you care to read it now?”

  “But Aunt!” The words fairly burst from Passion’s lips. Alfred and Aunt Matty looked at her with surprise. “Are we not going to the Crystal Palace?” she asked more calmly. “It’s our last day, and there are so many things I still want to see.”

  Aunt Matty nodded. “Of course, my dear, of course. Mr. Swiftly. I must decline your request to read my essay. Now just isn’t the time, sir.”

  “Uh, yes. I understand completely, mistress. Another time.”

  Passion slipped her arm through her aunt’s. “I regret that we must bid you adieu so soon, Mr. Swittly. I know you only just arrived, but my aunt and I have spent all week surveying the Crystal Palace, and today is our last day.”

  He frowned. “But…”

  “Darling, I have invited Mr. Swittly to join us today.”

  “What?” Passion’s heart fell into her stomach.

  Aunt Matty pattered her arm and winked meaningfully. “Of course, I’ll leave you two to explore on your own. I’m sure you’ll have so much to talk about.”

  No! She wanted to scream her protest.

  But she didn’t.

  She walked to the cab, a stunned prisoner of disap­pointment. Her aunt and Alfred Swittly flanked her. They bumped and jostled her on the narrow path.

  It took every ounce of her will not to shove them both aside and run.

  If she ran now, she could probably escape through the crowd. But she couldn’t do it. It would be rude and a ter­rible embarrassment to her aunt—even if she did try to make it seem as if she and Alfred were separated by acci­dent. Besides, she glanced up at him, she just couldn’t be that mean-spirited.

  “I say, what a throng,” Alfred commented jovially. “Personally, Mrs. Redington, I love a crowd. So many people to see and be seen by.”

  And he was seen! He cut a wide path with his massive size, easily bumping aside those who failed to move out of his way.

  She needed to let Mark see why she couldn’t meet him. “May I show you the gothic furniture room, Mr. Swittly? There are some lovely pieces there.”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Redington. Certainly. Today,” he leaned down and winked at her, “I am entirely at your dis­posal.”

  Passion drew back slightly. “How delightful.”

  He beamed. “Yes, isn’t it? We are among the fortunate few, Mrs. Redington, who have the means to afford leisure and the wit to use it for our personal edification. Think, Mrs. Redington, of all the vile wretches who slave away their lives in menial jobs and then spend what little free time and money they have in the desperate pursuit of drink. Horrid existence. I pity them, really.”

  The man spoke in a voice that could be heard by all who passed. Indeed, he seemed more interested in the re­action of others to his words than he did hers.

  Passion blushed with embarrassment. “But many that are first shall be last; and the last first. “

  “What’s that, Mrs. Redington?” He harrumphed. “I certainly don’t intend to be last. I rather fancy being first, if you must know.” He guffawed. “First shall be last—last first? Wherever did you come up with such a thing?”

  Passion lifted her brows reproachfully. “The Gospel according to St. Mark, chapter ten, verse thirty-one.”

  “Oh!” His forehead wrinkled as he nodded thought­fully. “Yes, I knew the words sounded familiar. I say, look at this astounding screen, Mrs. Redington. Have you ever seen such a thing?”

  Passion looked up at the screen. Her body relaxed. She reached out to touch the carved wood. It was their screen. Turning her head slowly, she looked over her shoulder.

  From a short distance away, deep blue eyes captured hers. Passion’s heart lifted joyfully. A pulse beat once be­tween her legs. She took a quiet breath.

  He stayed where he was, in the center of the room yet apart from the crowd, and bent a frown upon Alfred Swittly.

  Passion glanced at the big man, who was still deliver­ing his critical opinion of the screen, then returned her gaze to Mark.

  She hated that he was here, yet so far from her. He was supposed to be near. He was supposed to be touching her. She let her gaze wander over his immaculate form. Her breasts tingled, and her tender womb quivered in memory of their night together. God, how she wanted him!

  When she lifted her eyes to his, she found the blue orbs full of fire. With slow deliberation, he slid one hand into his pocket. As his arm moved up and down in a leisurely caress, moisture filled Passion’s mouth.

  Her sore muscles convulsed, and her cunt clenched.

  “After all, something this huge would never fit, would it?”

  Passion yanked her attention to Alfred. He was looking at her expectantly.

  Passion swallowed. “I’m sorry?”

  “I said, a screen this large would never fit in a house.”

  Alfred looked at it dismissively. “Completely impractical, if you ask me.”

>   Passion shifted her gaze to Mark. His hand was still in his pocket, but now he was moving closer.

  “Entirely ridiculous, really,” Alfred scoffed.

  Her body trembled. “Actually, I’m quite fond of it. Sometimes you need something large to cover empti­ness.”

  Lemon verbena titillated her senses.

  Alfred looked back at the screen. “Well, I see why you might like it.”

  Passion shivered as Mark’s fingers trailed down her back. He stood right next to her, seeming to examine the screen.

  “But could you really accommodate something this massive?” Alfred asked.

  Passion turned to him as Mark pulled her hand behind her skirts. She curled her fingers around his stiff erection. Her heart pounded. “I’m sure nothing smaller would do.”

  She froze and released Mark as Alfred raised his thick blond brows at her. “Really? I must see the place where you would put such a thing.” He smiled. “Perhaps we might visit your home someday soon. I’m sure your fam­ily would like to meet me, and I so admire the country, with its large, sprawling homes.”

  Gripping her elbow, he led her away from the screen. “Your aunt informs me that your father supports her. He must have quite a rich vicarage to be able to support a spinster sister so comfortably.”

  Passion pulled her arm free of Alfred’s thick fingers.

  “And,” he put his hand on his chest, “he must be rich in generosity as well.”

  “My father is rich in many regards, sir. Not least of all in the love of his daughters.”

  As they entered the busy main gallery, she glanced be­hind her. Mark followed with a dark scowl leveled on the back of Alfred Swittly.

  Passion fairly leapt out of her skin when, suddenly, Alfred’s voice boomed and he threw his arms wide. “Tell me, my daughters, which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend where na­ture doth merit…” Alfred’s hand came to rest in the small of her back.

  Passion turned away from the curious stares of those around them. Mark was near, his gaze fixed on her. Why couldn’t she be walking with him? Why must she be with this pompous, conceited man?

  Frowning, Passion pulled away from Alfred’s grasping hand. “Unlike the obtuse King Lear, sir, my father loves each of his daughters for themselves and would never be­stow unequal favors.”

  “But of course, of course,” Alfred blustered. Lowering his voice, he leaned close as he led her down the gallery. “I must tell you, Mrs. Redington, that I am very impressed by your knowledge of Shakespeare. It so happens that I am a scholar of the great man. Tell me, did you recognize the line by my kingly delivery?”

  Once again Alfred’s heavy hand dropped to her waist. Once again, Passion sidestepped. “And I must tell you. Mr. Swittly, that I merely guessed—by the context of the line and the fact that you quoted Shakespeare earlier.”

  “Then what of this, Mrs. Redington?” He scooped up her hand, clutching it in both his own. “O, she doth leach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night, as a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!”

  Passion realized he had led her to a very quiet section at the end of the gallery. “Mr. Swittly, please!”

  Trying to pull her hand away, she looked for Mark. He stood at a distance, engaged in conversation with a small group of people.

  She gasped as Alfred pulled her behind a large statue, her hand still captive in his grip. “Forgive me, Mrs. Red­ington, but I could not help but notice the way you have been looking at me.” He grabbed her to him, forcing a whoosh of air from her compressed lungs. “I recognize he look of desire in your eyes, Mrs. Redington. You can­not imagine my delight at knowing your passion, forgive the pun, is equal to my own.”

  Passion’s eyes widened with shock, and she squirmed against him. “Let me go this instant, Mr. Swittly!”

  “I cannot, dear girl. In truth… I am too fond …”

  The man was as immovable as a tree! Her tension mounted. “This instant, Mr. Swittly!”

  His head lowered. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple. “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? “

  Passion shrunk back. She couldn’t take a deep breath. A frantic urge to scream was building in her. “Please, Mr. Swittly! Let me go! Let me go, or I shall scream!”

  He held her tighter, and his wet lips got closer and closer. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. “

  Just as she opened her mouth to scream, a startled woof and a grunt escaped Alfred. In the next instant, she was free as the big man slithered to the floor, holding his side.

  Passion looked into Mark’s fury-filled eyes.

  “Are you all right?” he growled, his hands still fisted at his sides.

  She wanted to run into his arms. “Yes.”

  Wheezing, Alfred rolled up onto his elbow. He raised reddened eyes to Mark and pointed at Passion. “I am courting this woman, sir! We are here together. I am her escort.”

  “I’ll escort you right onto your ass if I see you mauling this woman again. She has no need of your attentions.”

  Alfred struggled to his knees. “You, sir, have no right to intrude upon us.”

  Mark’s fist tightened, so Passion stepped forward. “Thank you, sir, for your assistance.” She touched his arm and looked at him meaningfully. “I’m afraid this man mis­took a sentiment he thought he saw in my face.”

  “That’s right, sir.” Blowing, Alfred heaved himself to his feet. He yanked down his vest with a huff. “And de­spite how it might appear, my intentions toward this woman are completely honorable.”

  An odd expression passed over Mark’s features. He stared at Alfred for a moment before looking at Passion. What was he thinking?

  His blue eyes delved into hers. “This man doesn’t de­serve you, madam.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned on his heel. “Good day.”

  “I say! You are entirely wrong, sir. I am completely de­serving of her!” Alfred called after Mark’s back.

  Passion stepped out from behind the statue and watched him until he disappeared into the crowd.

  Suddenly she felt bereft.

  When would she see him again?

  *

  Chapter Nine

  Arguments, Announcements, and Lies

  Mark drew a careful detail of the festoon that was to curve around the outer saucer dome of the library. It would bear an open book and a globe joined by an acanthus swag.

  He tried to concentrate, but the image of Passion in the embrace of that giant ass kept intruding. Was she consid­ering marrying such a lout? Was she considering marrying at all?

  He repaired an uneven line.

  She wouldn’t be in mourning forever. How many men wanted her?

  A hot tide of anger and jealousy welled in him. His hand clenched on his paper, crumpling it. He threw it on the floor with an oath.

  Whatever her plans, she was his for the next two months. He was of no damned inclination to share her with slobbering, enterprising oafs!

  A light knock sounded upon the door. Yanking another sheet of paper before him, Mark called for admittance.

  Cranford opened the door. “The countess, my lord.”

  Mark’s shoulders tensed as his mother sauntered in.

  “Close the door, Cranford,” Lucinda ordered.

  Mark nodded at his butler and then bent his head to his work.

  His mother poured herself a drink before crossing to his desk. Turning to a pile of his drawings, she leafed through them.

  Mark glared up at her from beneath his brows. “Do you mind taking a step back? I’ll have to wring your neck if you spill that drink on my work, and I have no desire to be hung for matricide.”

  Lucinda tossed down the sheet in her hand and re­treated a step. “Don’t you think that classical style is a bit outmoded? It looks too plain.”

  Mark kept working, shading the detail carefully.

  “You know, I saw one of Mr. Pa
xton’s preliminary drawings in Lord Fitzgerald’s office. It was neo-Gothic and completely modern. You might consider doing some­thing more in that vein.”

  “Joseph Paxton builds spectacles, not buildings,” Mark said tightly. “This is to be a National Library, not a Crys­tal Palace.”

  Lucinda shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m just trying to help.”

  He snorted. “What do you want, Mother?”

  “Fine, I’ll get right to the point. Matt tells me you’re fucking someone new.”

  Hell, that didn’t take long. He put aside the detail and pulled out his sketch of the rear edifice.

  “He told me you’re quite intrigued by whomever it is and that I should stop pushing Charlotte Lawrence on you. Of course, that was all before I told him you’d become en­gaged to Charlotte.”

  A muscle pulled across his upper back.

  Lucinda sipped from her brandy. “By the way, he was quite peeved that you hadn’t told him. He can’t stand to feel as if your brotherly confidence is suffering in any way. So, since you’re going to have to tell a lot more lies, I suggest that you consider what you will say to your brother and when. This must all come off with as few questions as possible.”

  He hated hearing from her what he already knew. He lifted his shoulder to ease the cramping muscle.

  “Which brings me back to this affair of yours. You’ve got to put her aside.”

  His whole body tensed. “No.”

  His mother slammed down her brandy snifter. “Do you realize that your brother’s future is at stake here? Fortu­nately, your complete disdain and disregard for the stan­dards of our class make it believable that you would take a commoner. But Abigail Lawrence and I are trying to paint a credible picture of romantic love between you and Charlotte. Society’s acceptance of this marriage depends upon it, and Abigail will have it no other way. If it gets out that you’re fucking someone else, no one will believe it.”

  He shrugged.

  Lucinda balled her hands on her waist. “You think you’re still getting out of this, don’t you? Well, you’re not! And too much is at stake for you to be fucking around with some slut!”

  He grit his teeth. “Watch your mouth.”