Passion

by Lisa Valdez

  “You will end this.”

  Mark forced himself to relax. “I said, no.”

  Lucinda paced to the window. “What does it matter if you leave her now or later? Eventually, you will tire of her and she of you.”

  Two months. They only had two months. “I don’t care.” He could almost feel Passion’s skin, taste her lips. He looked at his mother. “This is different. She’s differ­ent.”

  Lucinda stared hard at him, and suddenly her eyes nar­rowed. “This isn’t any different, and neither is she.”

  It pleased him to disturb her. He returned to his work.

  She crossed to his desk, her skirts swishing. “What? You think she’ll be your loyal little mistress forever? It won’t happen!”

  No, not forever. His gut clenched. Would she marry after they parted?

  “And if you think you’re going to hold her with that monster cock of yours, you’re wrong.”

  Mark’s hand jerked the pencil. A crooked line marred the perfection of the architectural drawing.

  “What? You think just because I didn’t nurse you, I don’t know,” she scoffed. “You’re my son.”

  Mark swept his pencil across the page, correcting the arch and continuing the columns. Calm. He must remain calm.

  “And you’re your father’s son.” Lucinda steepled her long fingers on the desk. “As I know you are aware, his big lance didn’t keep me.”

  Mark frowned. His muscles quivered. Don’t let her draw you in. Don’t let her! He sketched Corinthian details on the columns.

  Lucinda leaned forward. “Do you want to know the truth? You’re nothing but a novelty to her. She doesn’t care about you; she just cares about that big thing between your legs. Until she gets bored with it, that is. Then she’ll leave you for some other big penis.”

  The tip of Mark’s pencil snapped off. He threw it aside and picked up another. “Stop.”

  Lucinda smiled. “You’re not the only one around, you know. World’s full of big cocks. I should know; I had quite a fondness for them at one time.” She tilted her head. “But do you know what happened? I discovered that size wasn’t everything, and I abandoned men like you all together. You watch, so will your little lovely.”

  Mark’s pencil snapped in his hand. “Stop. Now.”

  Lucinda leaned even closer, her voice sharp. “You have the same problem as a beautiful woman, my son—always in demand for your physical endowments, but never for yourself.”

  His hand balled into a fist. “Shut up!”

  She drew back, “Fidelity is not for the likes of us. We’re too smart. We have too many advantages. For us, relationships are fleeting and ever changing.”

  Lucinda lifted her chin disdainfully. “Monogamous, everlasting bondage is for ugly, uneducated peasants who know no better and have no choices.” She raised her brows. “And even they stray. Just ask your brother’s fa­ther. He had a sweet little wife when he was fucking me.”

  Mark’s chair crashed to the floor, and he rounded the desk in a fury, his voice a roar. “Tell me, Mother, which was my father? Ugly or stupid?”

  Lucinda flinched as he ripped the diamond necklace from her neck and held it up in her face. “He certainly wasn’t poor. Yet even after you had abandoned his big cock for another, he remained faithful to you. True to you. Smiling into the faces of your lovers in public, even while he knew you were fucking them the moment he turned his back.”

  He leaned nearer, his rage barely contained. “Hmm, and he wasn’t ugly either. In fact, after you abandoned his big cock, he was offered consolation by a great number of lovely ladies. But he turned them all away. Not because he was stupid, but because he believed in honor and loyalty. Because despite the fact that he was married to a lying, conniving, self-absorbed, self-serving bitch, he loved you!” His eyes stung. “Until you killed that as well.”

  He sneered into her face. “Now, I’ll tell you the truth. You’re nothing but a pathetic, worn-out, used-up whore, who finds solace in making sure everyone around you lives in as much misery as possible. And soon, though you may not know who he is, your last lover will tire of you for the last time, and you will be abandoned. Forever!”

  Mark shook his head. “Do not come to me on that day. For I will not pity you.” He stared into his mother’s cold green eyes. “Now get out!”

  Lucinda whirled around and strode across the room. She turned at the door and paused. “I never asked your fa­ther to waste away for me. And the fact remains that mar­riage is a business arrangement between families. You will marry Charlotte Lawrence, despite your current entangle­ment with this other woman. You’ll do it, or see Matthew shamed as a bastard.”

  She stared at him, and her eyes glittered. “I wish it were you. If Matthew were my firstborn, I’d be tempted to tell Abigail Lawrence to go hang herself.”

  “Don’t think I don’t know it. And don’t think I don’t know your first concern is not for Matthew, but for your­self. Society has never liked its nose rubbed in its own gutter, and that’s truer now than ever. If this got out, no one would receive you. No one! You would be ostra­cized—given the cut direct, every day of your life, if you dared even appear on the street! You’d lose everything that matters to you.” He steeled his voice. “So let’s not pretend that I don’t know exactly what is at stake here!”

  He sent the diamond necklace crashing against the door near her head. “Now get the fuck out. And don’t bring your moldy presence into my house ever again.”

  Lucinda bent, picked up the necklace, and left.

  Passion glanced up at Charlotte as she entered the sunroom. “Charlotte, darling, will you move that vase a little to the left?”

  “Hello to you, too,” Charlotte teased as she shifted the vase.

  Passion smiled at her cousin. “I’m sorry.”

  “Charlotte, sit down and have a cup of tea,” Aunt Matty directed. “The scones will be here soon.”

  “In a moment, Aunt Matty. First, I have an announce­ment to make.” Charlotte clasped her hands. “Do I have your complete attention?”

  Laying down her pencil, Passion noticed a paper tucked beneath her cousin’s arm. She exchanged an in­quiring glance with Aunt Matty.

  “Are you ready?” Charlotte asked excitedly.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, child, spit it out,” Aunt Matty urged.

  Charlotte took a deep breath. “I’m engaged to be mar­ried!”

  Passion’s eyes widened with amazement as she smiled. “What?”

  Aunt Matty’s jaw fell open.

  Charlotte nodded happily. “It’s true!”

  “Gracious, congratulations!” Passion exclaimed. Standing, she gave Charlotte a firm hug. Lord, why did she suddenly feel sorry for herself? She pushed the un­charitable feelings away and pulled her cousin to a chair. “Sit down and tell us everything. Who is the man?”

  “Yes.” Aunt Matty had managed to pick up her jaw. “Who?”

  Charlotte sat a little straighter and lifted her chin. “I, Charlotte Rebecca Lawrence, am engaged to be married to Randolph Hawkmore, Eighth Earl of Langley.”

  “Eigh-Eigh-Eighth Earl of Langley!” Aunt Matty stut­tered.

  “I am going to be a countess,” Charlotte proclaimed.

  “But this is incredible.” Passion grinned. “How did you ever keep something like this a secret?”

  Charlotte shrugged innocently. “Because I didn’t know it myself.”

  Aunt Matty huffed. “Heavens, Charlotte! How do you get courted by an earl and not know it?”

  Charlotte took the paper from beneath her arm. “Ap­parently, the earl observed me one evening at the Italian Opera.” She blushed. “Though he didn’t make his feelings known at the time, he thought me the most lovely woman there. As the days passed, he thought of me continually.”

  Did Mark think of her continually?

  “Yesterday, he offered marriage.”

  Would Mark ever marry? Passion’s chest tightened.

  Her cousin he
ld out the paper. “The whole story is in today’s society pages.”

  Passion swallowed the uncomfortable feelings welling in her. “Oh, Charlotte, how romantic.”

  She took the paper and, clearing her throat, read aloud:

  “It is announced that Randolph Hawkmore, Eighth Earl of Langley, is engaged to Miss Charlotte Rebecca Lawrence. Nuptials shall take place on the tenth of June, in a private ceremony, at Hawkmore House Chapel. “

  Passion paused.

  “(Contract pending). “

  “Mother says that’s just because everything is going so rapidly,” Charlotte said. “The contract will be signed soon.”

  Aunt Matty raised her brows in a we’ll-see-about-that manner.

  “Oh, Aunt Matty, really,” Passion chastised. “This is absolutely wonderful for Charlotte.”

  “I know. I know.” Aunt Matty looked at Charlotte. “I’m happy for you, child. Really, I am. But now, your mother will be beyond impossible. She always did think she was better than our side of the family. The day Passion’s mother married my dear brother, your mother snubbed us. Why, she barely acknowledges us. I’m sure, now, we shall cease to exist.” Aunt Matty lifted her chin. “Not that I’ll miss her, mind you.”

  “Aunt Matty!” Passion exclaimed.

  Charlotte shook her head. “It’s all right, Passion. I know my mother better than most.” She sighed. “But she is my mother.”

  Passion squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “Of course she is. And you needn’t defend her to us.” Passion sent her aunt a look.

  Aunt Matty sent one back. But then she heaved a re­signed sigh. “Oh, very well, I shan’t think at all about Abigail Lawrence.” She pointed to the paper. “Does it say anything else?”

  Passion read the commentary below the announce­ment:

  “As the Earl of Langley has long eschewed the conven­tions and ideals of his noble class, it can hardly be a surprise to those in society that he has become engaged to a mere Miss. However, what will set tongues wagging is the extraordinary fact that the earl is in love with the girl! Who could have guessed that the cynical and worldly Langley would ever fall in love? Yet it’s true! It seems the earl became completely enamored of the lovely Miss Lawrence when he saw her at the Italian Opera. And ac­cording to those who know, he is entirely impatient to make her the Countess of Langley!”

  “Parlors and drawing rooms are already abuzz. What will happen, dear readers? Will this Miss Lawrence be embraced or snubbed? Will romantic love flourish or flounder? Who shall be the first to invite the charming couple to their soiree? And WHO shall be invited to the blessed event at Hawkmore House?”

  Passion smiled to chase away the nervous look in her cousin’s face. “Without doubt, you will be embraced. Don’t you worry about that.”

  “Or course you will, child,” Aunt Matty agreed.

  How wonderful that her cousin would have a loving husband. Another pang of sorrow accompanied the thought. What was the matter with her? She must think of her happiness for Charlotte, not her sorrow for herself. “Oh, Charlotte, I’m so pleased for you. And June is so near. Heavens, you must have a thousand things to do.”

  “Yes. My fiancé‘s mother, the countess, and my mother have taken things completely in hand. The countess says everything must be done perfectly so the nobility accepts me. I must go where she says and do what she says. She must approve all my gowns before I appear in public.” Charlotte frowned. “I’m afraid I will not be able to con­tinue my painting lessons just now, Passion. There will be so much to do…”

  “Good heavens, Charlotte, painting will wait.”

  Charlotte’s frown deepened. “And I shan’t be able to accompany you to the events we had planned. I’m afraid my social schedule is no longer in my hands.” Her brows lifted. “But you must go to everything. Your mourning is over, and I want you to have a marvelous time. Promise me you’ll still get out.”

  “I promise.” Passion looked at her aunt. “Besides, you won’t let me stay at home, will you?”

  “Certainly not.” Aunt Matty put down her teacup and glanced toward the door. “Where are those scones?” She turned her attention back to Charlotte. “In fact, I’m quite convinced that Passion will be announcing her own en­gagement before her time with me is over.”

  “I’m not marrying again, Aunt Matty.”

  “What nonsense.” Her aunt handed Charlotte a cup of tea. “Now, tell us about your fiancé, Charlotte. What sort of man is this earl?”

  Charlotte grew a bit flustered. “Well, I must confess that our first meeting was not what I expected.”

  Aunt Matty leaned forward in her chair with interest. “Why? Is he ugly? Crippled? Impoverished?”

  Charlotte’s curls swayed as she shook her head. “No, nothing like that. In fact, he’s one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen. And he’s one of the richest men in the realm.”

  “Oh.” Aunt Matty looked a little disappointed.

  “Then, what’s the matter?” Passion asked.

  Charlotte looked pensive. “It’s just that he didn’t seem particularly enamored of me. In fact, he barely looked at me.”

  Passion frowned in confusion.

  “He was extremely rude to the countess and my mother,” Charlotte continued. “And when he left—the expression on his face—well, he seemed furious with us all.”

  “Who could be furious with you?” Passion offered. “Perhaps he was burdened with other troubles that were weighing upon him.”

  “Perhaps his toe was paining him,” Aunt Matty suggested. “When my toe was trod upon, it put me in a terri­ble temper.”

  Passion shared a tiny smile with her cousin. “There you are, Charlotte. It must have been his toe.”

  “I’m sure you’re both right.” Charlotte put down the cup she had been sipping from. “His mother did say that he was angry with her. I suppose they must have been ar­guing.”

  Aunt Matty excused herself to see what was keeping the scones.

  As soon as she left, Charlotte leaned forward. “I tell you, cousin, he gave his mother and my own such a dressing-down! You would not have believed it, had you seen it. He was in such a rage.” Charlotte clasped her hands. “I have to confess, I found it wonderfully thrilling. Oh, Passion, I have bit my tongue and held my peace so often with my mother… Why, I have never dared to speak to her as he did. But I have wanted to a thousand times.” Charlotte lowered her eyes. “Please don’t think I’m horrid, but for that alone, I could love this man.”

  Passion didn’t know what to say. Abigail Lawrence wasn’t known for her kindness and charm, but still, a child must honor her mother. “I’m sure you will grow to love the earl for many reasons, darling. Not least of all because he loves you.”

  Charlotte lifted her gaze. “If he does still love me. I think, after meeting Mother, he believes I may be like her. I think that’s why he was so cold.”

  “Well, then you’ll prove to him that isn’t true.”

  “Oh, I hope so.” Charlotte’s gray eyes turned dreamy. “I can see him in his bridegroom’s garb.”

  A vision of Mark standing beside her, speaking vows, flashed in Passion’s mind. She quickly pushed it away. That was a covenant they would not share.

  “He is so handsome, Passion. Wait till you meet him. He’s like a god.”

  Passion smiled and couldn’t help her heart beating faster. Would Mark come to her that night?

  Charlotte sighed. “He has the most extraordinary blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Even full of anger, they were capti­vating.”

  Passion remembered the tenderness she had seen in Mark’s eyes that morning—remembered the hot gaze he had raked over her the night before. No man could have eyes more beautiful than his.

  Mark looked into Rosalind Benchley’s brown eyes and forced a smile as she offered him another chocolate from a cut-glass candy dish. “No, thank you, Lady Rosalind.”

  The low notes from Matt’s cello hummed in the back­ground.

  She put dow
n the dish. “Aunt says you may rely upon us, in any way, to help forward the social acclimation of your fiancée, my lord.”

  Mark clenched his jaw. He could kill his mother for placing that damned announcement.

  “Isn’t that right, Aunt?”

  Rosalind’s aunt looked up from her hand of cards. “Who could refuse true love?”

  Christ. He exchanged a look with Matt.

  Lord Benchley snorted. “True love. What a bunch of rot. Marriages are made for the purposes of increasing one’s status or wealth, preferably both.” He looked over the top of his glasses at Mark. “The only reason you’ll pull this off, my lord, is because your own status and wealth needs no bolstering.” He played a card. “I suppose you can afford love.”

  Matthew put aside his cello and joined Rosalind on the couch. “Your daughter and I are in love, my lord.”

  “A happy but unimportant circumstance,” Lord Benchley commented. “You will marry my daughter, dear boy, because you are a Hawkmore and, of course, because you have a great deal of money.”

  Rosalind’s aunt frowned at her brother. “Really, my lord.”

  Matt grinned at Rosalind and kissed the tips of her fin­gers. “Would you still love me if I were poor?”

  “Of course.” Rosalind giggled.

  Mark crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you love him if he weren’t a Hawkmore?”

  Matt’s brows lifted with surprise. But then he turned to Rosalind. “Yes, would you?”

  “Well, of course.” She laughed again. “But you are a Hawkmore, my darling, and you do have money.”

  Matt nibbled her finger discreetly. “Mmm, good thing, that.”

  Mark looked at the two of them. He felt a sudden surge of animosity toward Rosalind Benchley. She was lying. At least her father was honest.

  But then, what else was she to say? No, Matt darling, actually I would cease to love you if you were poor and not a Hawkmore.

  She only said what Matt wanted to hear. And in truth, they weren’t fair questions to begin with.

  Still, he hated all the lies. He closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. Why did it suddenly seem as if he were surrounded by lies? Lying to Matt, lying to the Benchleys. Now, with the announcement in the paper, lying to the world. It made him feel ill.