Passion

by Lisa Valdez

  “No, Mother. You would have had it all. You would have been untouchable. This has all been for you. Not for me.”

  “It was for you!” Abigail stomped her foot. “It was!”

  Mark stepped forward to shield Charlotte from her mother’s rage, but he kept silent as Charlotte turned from the mirror. Her normally sweet face was filled with a fury that was all the stronger for how long it must have been held in check.

  “Liar!” she cried. “This was all for your own sake—as everything always has been.” She leaned forward and her hands gripped the lace of her skirt. “You! The great you, who must reign supreme over everything and all! You, who must find and magnify every imperfection in others, so as to divert attention from your own monumental fail­ings. You, who crave the respect of noble strangers, yet spit in the faces of those who share your household.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And I am among those of your be­leaguered household.”

  Abigail’s eyes were ice. “Weren’t you just looking in the mirror, daughter? You don’t look beleaguered to me.”

  “Hearts don’t show in mirrors, Mother. But I suppose you wouldn’t know that, since you have no heart.”

  Mark crossed his arms over his chest. Well said.

  Abigail drew back and prepared to vent a tirade.

  But Charlotte jumped ahead of her. “Where your heart should be is a knot of blackened hate and revenge. For this was as much revenge as it was anything else. Revenge against the countess, who snubbed you from her society and, therefore, from all noble society. And it was all for naught. Now that your evil machinations have been ex­posed, we are all ruined. So don’t try to play this off as if you’re some great martyr to my elevation!” She shook her head. “I doubt if marrying Prince Edward himself would erase the black stain upon our name now.”

  Abigail cheeks puffed. “You are a spoiled and ungrate­ful daughter. And if you do not hold this man to his prom­ise to you, you are a fool as well.”

  “Get out, Mother.”

  Abigail paused.

  “I said, get out!” Charlotte shouted.

  Abigail stormed from the room, shoving Mark’s arm as she passed. The door closed with a slam.

  Mark looked at Charlotte and suddenly found that his breath came more rapidly. This was the moment he wanted and the moment he feared.

  “Charlotte.” His voice caught in his tight throat. “If you want it, I will proceed with our marriage. Perhaps it might salvage something of your good name.” His heart thundered in his chest. “An engagement is a promise, and I will keep it.”

  Charlotte lifted her gray eyes to him. “You didn’t promise me freely, my lord. You were forced to promise me. And therein lies all the difference.” She pulled the lace fichu from the neck of her gown and let it float to the floor. “No wonder you could barely stand the sight of me.”

  “I was wrong to treat you so poorly,” Mark offered.

  “You were innocent.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “And I was angry.”

  “Of course you were angry. I’m angry, too.” She turned to face him. “And I find that, despite my mother’s lifelong attempt to demean me, I still have some sense of my own merit. I have no desire to marry and care for a man who would rather I didn’t.” She lowered her eyes. “I think my servants thought I would be spared some of the scandal if I broke with you first. I’m sure that’s why they gave me the letter. But I doubt anything can salvage my name now—1 don’t want to try. Besides, your family name has been besmirched as well, thanks to my mother.” She nod­ded. “I’ll face whatever difficulty this brings. But I will no longer live one moment with someone who does not cher­ish me.”

  She paused.

  Mark closed his eyes and prayed.

  “So, I decline your gracious proposal, my lord. I will­ingly release you from your promise.”

  Mark’s heart pounded and sang. Tears of sublime joy welled in his eyes. He went to Charlotte and pressed a soft kiss to her brow. “I think many will cherish you. And the one you choose will count himself lucky to have found a woman as fine as the one you have become.”

  Charlotte brushed away her tears. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Let us be Mark and Charlotte, for we have been through much together.”

  Charlotte smiled a small but confident smile. “Very well, Mark.”

  He wanted to run—to run to Passion. “Charlotte, after I leave you, I am going to go to your cousin.”

  “My cousin?”

  “Charlotte, during this terrible time, I fell in love with Passion. How and where we met shall all be explained, but neither Passion nor I knew of how we were all con­nected until the night of your engagement party. From that day forward, she shunned me. But I love her, Charlotte. I love her with my whole soul. And I must go to her now.”

  Shocked tears sparkled anew in Charlotte’s gray eyes. “Oh…” she whispered. Her gaze turned inward. “Yes… Yes, of course…” She shook her head and smiled a little sadly at Mark. “Then go to her right away. For I love her, too, and I would not have her suffer another moment.”

  Mark pressed a last, firm kiss to her brow.

  Then he ran.

  Passion pulled her paisley shawl tighter around her shoulders and glanced up at her father’s stoic profile. Samuel Dare’s thick red hair waved back from his brow like a mane, and his strong nose and jaw completed the imposing character of his face. Yet despite his striking ap­pearance and strict demeanor, he was the fairest, most compassionate man she knew.

  She ought to have known that though he would be dis­appointed in her, he would never abandon her or impugn her. And he would always, always love her. Whatever oc­curred, whatever they decided to do, that would never change.

  “Perhaps we shall all go to France for a long holiday,” he said idly. “I haven’t traveled in years.”

  “That’s because you hate to travel.” She looked up at him. “Father, you needn’t.”

  He patted her arm. “I want to be with you when your time comes.” He shook his head. “Your mother wouldn’t like it if I weren’t.”

  Passion squeezed his hand. “Papa?”

  “Yes, my child.”

  “I love you.”

  He stopped walking and looked down at her. His sky-blue eyes were somehow stern and soft at the same time. “I love you, too, lass.” His voice was gruff, and he brushed her cheek with his finger. “I’d best be getting back.”

  Passion nodded. “I’m going to walk to the lake. I’ll be back for tea.”

  Her father turned and strode down the path that led back to the vicarage. She watched him until his tall frame disappeared around a corner and then she continued down the path to the lake.

  When she was alone, she let herself cry.

  It was the day after the wedding, and the night before, she had dreamt of her lion. He had roared to her from a distant hilltop and then he had run toward her. As he had approached, it had seemed that more distance had ap­peared between them. Finally, though, he had reached her. And when he had reared up on his hind legs, she had seen that his wound was healed. Then, in a soft blurring of lines and colors, he had transformed into Mark. He had held his arms out to her, and she had run to him. But she had awak­ened before reaching his embrace.

  Even in her dreams, she denied herself the comfort of his arms.

  The small lake stretched out before her. It was quiet and peaceful. “I would have married you myself,” Mark had said to her that day at his home.

  Passion closed her eyes. Would that he could have found her here long ago and made her his. Her whole life would have proceeded differently. She would have happi­ness. She would have her love. She rested her hands over her womb. And her child would have a father.

  A breeze rustled the treetops and skimmed the lake. But though the air was cool, she suddenly felt warm. A tingle of awareness moved up her spine. Who was there?

  She turned and her heart stumbled then raced as she stared across the meadow.

  Mark!<
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  He wore no hat, and his formal attire was disheveled. Oh, God, what had happened? Why was he here?

  She inhaled a choked gasp as he ran to her. Had he fled the wedding? She should run away but she couldn’t. Her heart soared just to see him. She wanted his embrace. She wanted him.

  He bounded over a small log. Passion felt her shawl slip from her shoulders. She heard the sound of his feet hitting the ground.

  Her head swam with joy.

  His eyes were bright and vivid.

  And then he was there and his arms swooped around her. She cried out and held on to him with all her strength as he turned with her.

  She could smell him and feel him, and her body thrilled to be touching him. She curled her hand around his strong nape, and when she lifted her face to his, his mouth came down upon her parted lips with the force and fervor of a man starved for his love.

  Passion’s heart filled and her head spun as he delved deeply into her mouth. She moaned and tasted him and moaned again.

  But then she tore away and looked into his jubilant eyes—eyes so jubilant that something wonderful must have happened. Hope descended from heaven and filled her heart. “What happened? Why are you here?”

  He cupped her face in his hands, and tears sparkled in his eyes. “It’s all over, Passion. No more scheming, no more lies.” He touched her quivering lip with his thumb. “The whole disgusting mess landed in the paper. Every­thing is out, and I am free. Free to love you.”

  Passion gripped his wrists. Her heart thundered and tears welled. “And Charlotte? How is she?”

  “She is well.” Mark shook his head. “I offered to stay, Passion. I knew I could never come to you unless I did. So I put everything in Charlotte’s hands and I prayed.”

  He smiled, and all the pieces of Passion’s heart flew from their hiding places. “Your young cousin wants a life of her own choosing, not her mother’s. She has formally declined to marry me.”

  Passion cried out in relief and her tears spilled over as she threw herself against him and took his mouth in a deep, heart-binding kiss. She kissed him with all the joy and bliss of a soul reborn. She kissed him with all the heat and desire of a woman in love.

  Gasping and panting against his beautiful mouth, she smiled. “I love you! I love you! I love you,” she breathed between kisses.

  “Never stop telling me,” he murmured. His hands tightened on her waist as he pressed kisses along her jaw and neck. “And for every time you say it, I shall repeat it. I love you. I love you.” He kissed the hollow of her throat. “I love you.”

  She held him as he slid down against her and dropped onto his knee. He lifted his beautiful blue eyes to her, and her own blurred with another rush of tears.

  “Passion Elizabeth Dare, I love you with all that I am. You are the woman who makes every day worth liv­ing. You are the woman who makes my world a paradise. And you are the woman who makes me a better man.” His own eyes flooded. “Marry me. Marry me, and let us declare our love to the world. Let us step from the shad­ows and dance and kiss and love in the light.”

  Mark wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to her breast. “Let me love you forever. Let me love you until we are frail and old. And then let me love you in heaven. For my love for you shall never cease.”

  Passion held him and kissed his brow and then tilted his face to hers. “Yes, I will marry you. Yes, with all my heart and all my soul.” Her knees trembled. She brushed his tears away with her thumb. “Mark, you need heirs and—”

  “No. I need you.” He shook his head. “I need you and only you. The rest doesn’t matter.”

  Passion kissed his parted lips, and her heart overflowed with bliss. “Then what shall we do with the poor babe growing inside me?” she said against his lips. “We can’t send him back.”

  Mark froze and Passion pulled back to look into his stunned blue gaze. His eyes glistened, and his hands shook on her waist. “You’re carrying our child? We’re having a child?”

  Passion nodded and smiled. “Yes.”

  “Oh, God!” His hand slipped over her womb, and his eyes closed. “A baby… Our baby.”

  Yes! Passion’s body shuddered with desire and her heart blossomed. “Tell me something,” she whispered.

  He kissed her stomach, and a slow smile spread across his handsome lips. He pulled her down before him and lifted his hands to her buttons. His eyes held unparalleled happiness. “I shall spend all my days with you,” he said softly, “and enjoy a thousand small moments in each one. I shall dream of you while you sleep by my side, and I shall speak your name over your lips when I wake.”

  Spreading her bodice, he pressed her back upon the grass and lifted her skirts. She gasped to feel the press of his body on hers.

  “Oh, Passion, I shall live every moment of life’s ad­venture with you. And I shall make love to you over and over until our bodies are more one than two.”

  She writhed beneath him as his hand moved between them.

  ““And in such a way, I shall live a life with you,” he promised. “And I shall make life with you.”

  Then he kissed her with plundering ferocity. And as he slid into her shaking body, Passion moaned her exultation to the sky.

  This was love.

  This was joy.

  This was heaven on Earth.

  *

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  In his hurry to get out of his shirt, Mark banged his elbow against the screen. “Ouch, damn it!” He glared at the offending piece.

  Passion laughed as she removed her pantalets from be­neath her skirts. “Are you all right?”

  He grinned and kicked off his shoes. “I’m fine. Just open your bodice.”

  Passion didn’t pause but lifted her hands to loosen her laces.

  Mark pulled off his socks and trousers as she slipped out of her bodice entirely. She wore no corset cover, and her luscious breasts were full and straining against the delicate fabric of her chemise.

  He moaned. His blood rushed and his cock grew. “Hurry, my love.” He wanted her. He was desperate for her.

  She smiled and quickly removed the skirt of her gown while her hungry eyes kept dropping to his erection.

  He peeled off his undergarment and kicked it aside with his shoes.

  Passion licked her lips and struggled with her petti­coats. Her face turned from ardor to distress. “Mark, help me.”

  He stepped forward with a warm smile and worked at her knot while he kissed her. Her sweet mouth opened and he tasted her and… and, damn it, he couldn’t get the knot loose!

  As they struggled with it, a knock sounded upon the door to their room. They both froze.

  The nurse’s voice called, “My lady?”

  Mark groaned.

  Passion extricated herself from his embrace with a gig­gle. “Yes, Milly?” she answered. “I’m here.” She looked around the screen. “Come in.”

  Milly’s voice floated over the top of the screen. “The young master is wanting his mum, my lady.”

  Passion smiled over her shoulder at Mark. “Don’t go. I’ll be right back.”

  Mark indicated his nakedness. “Where would I go?”

  She gave him a saucy, head-to-toe look before stepping around the screen. He’d make her pay for that.

  In the next moment he heard her cooing and it made him smile.

  “Thank you, Milly,” she said.

  The door closed and Passion came back behind the screen carrying their son. Mark Samuel Hawkmore was plucking at her chemise, which they had discovered meant “Feed me now or I shall holler to the hills.”

  Mark watched Passion open her chemise and lift her milk-engorged breast from her corset. Her darkened, dis­tended nipple dripped milk, and his cock pulsed at the sight. But his son knew what to do and quickly sucked his mother’s sweet nipple into his small baby mouth.

  Passion sighed and gazed down at their son with tender adoration. She loved him powerfully and deeply,
and Mark loved to see every moment of her devotion. As a boy, this was what he had been starved for. This was what he had yearned for. A mother who would have protected him and nurtured him. A mother who would have raised him up with love.

  Passion lifted her beautiful eyes to his, and they dark­ened as she looked at him. She leaned her back against the wall. “Come here,” she said softly.

  He went to them and stroked the soft auburn hair that curled over Samuel’s small head. His blue eyes were closed in blissful gluttony.

  Mark’s heart filled with so much love that he could not contain it. It spilled from his eyes in two tears. One dropped on Passion’s breast, the other on Samuel’s arm.

  Passion’s hand curved around his nape and, drawing him down to her, she kissed him with a sensual tender­ness. “I love you.”

  He nibbled her lip. “I love you.”

  “Then show me. Samuel won’t mind. He’s more asleep than awake.”

  He moaned against her mouth and, lifting her skirts, he slid eagerly into her.

  She gasped, clenched around him, and murmured his name.

  And there, behind their screen, Mark’s heart roared with the exuberant happiness of a man who would never again hunger for love.

  *

  Turn the page for a special preview of Lisa Valdez’s next novel

  Patience

  Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!

  Matthew swept her into his arms and turned her into the waltzing throng. Patience found herself leaning into him, both offering support and taking succor. He held her so closely that she could smell the vetiver that clung to him. She could feel the press of his lower body and the brush of his legs. She could feel the strength of his shoulder beneath her hand as he led her with unwavering surety. Her memories of how he’d felt in her arms had blurred with time, but now they came back into clear and precise focus. He felt hard, unyielding, and perfect.

  She closed her eyes and would have laid her head against his shoulder had they been alone. Gracious, she hadn’t real­ized how tired she was—so very tired of the constant on­slaught of male attention. The wrong male attention.