Passion Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Mrs. Lawrence followed by Sarah Penny, the housemaid, and Webster Arnett, the footman, had trailed behind Mrs. Rivers out across the flagstone terrace. A huge smile on her face, Mrs. Lawrence said, “It is good to have you back home, Madame. Mrs. Rivers has been fretting since you’ve been gone and picking at her food—no matter what I fix to tempt her appetite.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, now can we,” said Juliana with a fond glance at Mrs. Rivers. “You know that it is never wise to upset the cook.”

  Mrs. Rivers shook her head shyly, smiled and kept her small, wrinkled hand firmly in Juliana’s.

  Juliana’s staff was small. In addition to her own maid, Abby, and the others, she employed Mrs. Lawrence’s husband as gardener and stable man. Mr. Lawrence was helped in his various chores by his oldest son, twenty-three-year-old James. The other servant was Anne Boone, Sarah’s aunt, and she helped where needed but also acted as Mrs. Rivers’s maid—much to the old lady’s flustered pleasure.

  Even though her every comfort had been seen to at her former home, Juliana thoroughly enjoyed sleeping in her own bed in her own bedroom. Kirkwood was far grander, larger than Rosevale, but the half-timbered, hip-roofed house with the profusion of roses surrounding it and from which it had taken its name suited her just fine. With five generous bedrooms it was big enough that she could invite friends to stay if she wished and the sitting, drawing and dining rooms, though not remarkable, were more than adequate for her needs. There was a pleasant room just beyond the morning room that she had claimed as her office and where she discussed menus with Mrs. Lawrence, paid her bills and oversaw the running of her small household.

  That Wednesday evening as she sat in the green and cream sitting room sipping tea, she was already, if not dreading, not looking forward to returning to Kirkwood on Monday.

  She half smiled. Before she had returned to Rosevale she had seen that the invitations had been sent out for the house party and had left several lists for her father, Thalia, Hudson and Cook of things that needed be done in her absence. While she might not have full confidence in her father and Thalia’s competence, she knew that Hudson and Cook would see that all was as it should be.

  During these fleeting days at Rosevale Asher had not been far from her mind. Wandering the paths of the herb garden, the scent of chives, mint, thyme and marjoram wafting in the warm summer air, she agonized over the choices before her.

  Glumly she admitted that she wasn’t so determined to keep her independence and remain at Rosevale that she would whistle away a life with the man she loved. But when she thought of trading her small, loyal staff and Mrs. Rivers and the tranquil life she had made for herself for an unknown, uncertain future as Asher’s wife, aware that as her husband he would rule her life, a knot formed in her chest. Did she love him enough, trust him enough to place her future and that of those around her in his complete control?

  Looking across the small room at Mrs. Rivers contentedly enjoying her tea, she wondered how Asher would feel about a bride who arrived with her old nursemaid and a half dozen or so servants in tow. What would his staff think? Her lips twitched. Would there be domestic wars?

  Juliana slept badly that night; even her dreams were conflicted, swinging from joy to anxiety. During the day it was little different. Thoughts of Asher kept constantly popping into her head and she’d stop in the middle of some task and drop her concentration as the image of losing herself in his arms clouded her mind. Then she’d look around and remember that once she married him, everything she owned became his, that he would and could rule her life….

  Exhausted from the conflict raging within her breast, she escaped to the garden to try to make some sense of her emotions. Seated in the gazebo well away from the house, her gaze on the small stream that trickled nearby, she realized that all her indecision came down to one elemental thing—did she love him enough to risk her future happiness?

  Asher had had a busy morning. Upon arising, he’d ridden directly to his grandmother’s to assure her that he had returned in time to meet Mrs. Sherbrook and Lord Thorne. A welcome surprise awaited him.

  Joining his grandmother for breakfast Thursday morning, he was informed that Mrs. Sherbrook had fallen and sprained her ankle and that her trip to Burnham had been postponed by several days. Mrs. Sherbrook’s note explaining the reason for the delay had been delivered only yesterday.

  Asher tried to look unhappy by the news. “Are you very disappointed?” he asked his grandmother.

  She shook her head. “No. I am just grateful that it was not worse—a broken ankle would have put paid to the trip for this year.” She shot him a sly glance. “And I’m sure that with the delay that you will be able to keep your calendar clear for me.”

  “Of course,” he murmured.

  Escaping from his grandmother, anticipation thrumming in his veins, he’d ridden to Kirkwood only to find that Juliana had escaped to Rosevale.

  Muttering under his breath at the waste of time, after a brief conversation with Mr. Kirkwood, he rode impatiently to Rosevale. The near brush with death on Wednesday evening had honed both his desire and his determination to claim Juliana as his bride and, hardly aware of what he was doing, he swung out of the saddle and strode to the door of Juliana’s house.

  Mrs. Lawrence answered his knock on the door. She was a local and even before he spoke knew immediately the identity of the tall, handsome man inquiring after her mistress. He flashed a stunning smile in her direction and murmured, “If you don’t mind, I would prefer to announce myself. Where is she?”

  Mrs. Lawrence studied him for a second and then, a knowing gleam in her eyes, she told him where to find Juliana.

  Lost in thought, staring off into space, Juliana jumped when Asher strolled into the rose-and morning-glory-covered gazebo.

  “Oh! You startled me,” she exclaimed, rising to her feet from the filigreed iron chair in which she had been sitting. Suddenly shy, remembering how they had parted, she stammered, “D-d-did you e-e-enjoy your trip to London?”

  Asher’s breath caught at the sight of her looking utterly adorable in a confection of pale yellow muslin and lace and her dark hair fashioned into a knot at the back of her head. Her full breasts strained against the soft fabric and, remembering the weight and taste of those silky globes, he forgot everything but how much he wanted her. All the passion he’d kept tightly leashed sprang free and in one step he was in front of her.

  “Enjoy London?” he said thickly. “Never as much as I’m going to enjoy this.” And he dragged her into his arms.

  Juliana shuddered as those strong hands closed around her and when his mouth captured hers, she never thought to repulse him. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, his tongue taking immediate possession of her mouth. Flattened against him, his lips and tongue mated with hers, fire curled up from between her legs and her nipples stiffened. Oh, God, she thought wildly, I do love him so.

  Her head fell back under the onslaught of his mouth and her fingers clutched his shoulders to keep upright. Blind desire bound her in his embrace and nothing in the world existed except Asher and the magic he forged between them. Greedily she drank in the scent and taste of him, her body clamoring to be taken by his.

  Asher hadn’t meant to fall upon her like a ravening wolf, but he couldn’t control himself. Even before he touched her, at just the first sight of that lush, feminine body, heat and passion erupted through him and there was only the primitive demand to take his woman burning in his brain. Gripped by a fierce hunger to know again the drugging pleasures of her body, his trembling hands roamed everywhere, caressing her breasts, cupping her buttocks and gently probing between her legs.

  Juliana never thought to deny him. It was as if their first joining had unleashed a demanding wanton creature within her and she wanted him desperately, wanted his hands upon her, wanted his thick length driving into her as she had never wanted anything else in her life. Even when he backed her up to one wall of the gazebo and pushed up the skirts to her gown,
she didn’t call a halt to his blunt advances.

  He kissed her as if he was starving and her mouth provided his only sustenance; her hunger matched his, her tongue sliding along his, urging and demanding at the same time. His swollen member bulged at the front of his breeches and he wedged his knees between her legs, widening her stance. Her muslin skirts bunched up between them, he stroked through the tight curls at the junction of her thighs and his fingers found her. She melted onto his delving fingers and he groaned when he found her damp and hot and ready for him.

  Juliana shivered under Asher’s kisses and caresses and, her back supported by the wall of the gazebo, her hands slipped from his shoulders, traveling down his broad chest to his waist and lower. Finding the opening in his breeches, she freed the solid, swollen length of him. The hard rod of flesh was warm and heavy in her hands and she nearly purred as she ran her fingers over its width and length.

  Asher tore his mouth from hers and, his dark blue eyes glittering fiercely, he said, “Christ! My brain is on fire. You have bewitched me.”

  Her eyes glazed with desire, her face flushed, Juliana nodded dazedly. “No less than you have me,” she managed.

  He growled something under his breath, and he shifted slightly, his hand cupping her buttocks, lifting her, positioning her. “Your legs,” he groaned. “Wrap them around me.”

  She did and with one heavy stroke, he plunged into her. She was hot and tight and he drove into her, his heart beating so hard he thought it would burst, his blood licking like fire in his veins. With her mouth on his, her body clenched around him, he gave himself over to the urgent pursuit of the mindless pleasure that beckoned him with every deep thrust.

  Pinioned against the gazebo wall, her mouth plundered by him, Juliana hung on for dear life. The sensation of his rigid member sliding rapidly in and out of her body was so sweetly, explicitly carnal that she moaned with pleasure. She twisted in his embrace, wanting, seeking, needing that glorious pinnacle she knew she would find with him. A second later, her body quaked around him and she choked back a cry as waves of ecstasy rolled through her.

  The sudden clasping of her body around him and the small gasp she could not suppress was Asher’s undoing. With one last, frantic stroke he sought to prolong the honeyed madness, but his body would have none of it and his seed exploded from him. His spine arched, his hands clutched her to him and he tumbled into oblivion.

  They remained locked together, their bodies gently rocking against each other, but the world gradually returned and Asher groaned softly when his spent member slipped from her. His lips gentle on hers now, he muttered, “I fear that if I could, I would remain buried within you all my days.”

  Small shocks of pleasure still running through her, Juliana’s legs loosened their grip around him and her feet slid down to the floor, the skirts of her gown freed from between them, following the same path. Her bones felt as if they were made of sun-melted honey and she was grateful for the support of the gazebo at her back. If not for the wall of the gazebo and Asher’s hard body in front of her, his hands on her waist, she was certain she’d have fallen to the ground.

  Her lips rosy and swollen, her gaze blurred, she stared dazedly around her. The creek burbled in the background; the scent of roses filled the air and sunlight danced over the interior of the gazebo through the holes in the latticework walls. Reality trickling into her brain, she staggered away from him and sat down heavily in the chair she had abandoned such a short while ago.

  Asher had hastily rearranged himself and, standing before her, he demanded, “Now will you marry me?”

  Chapter 15

  The sensual haze surrounding her vanished and Juliana’s gaze narrowed. Asher Cordell was undoubtedly the most unfeeling, insufferable coxcomb it had ever been her misfortune to meet! With great relish she said, “Not if you were the last man on earth.”

  Asher burst out laughing and, sinking down on one knee before her, he murmured, “I deserved that, but won’t you please reconsider?” His amusement gone, his eyes very dark and blue, he took one of her hands in his and said, “I very much want to marry you. I cannot promise you that I will always please you but, Juliana, as best that I can, I will damn well try.”

  It was so unfair of him, she thought bitterly, to cut the ground beneath her feet this way. And did he have to look quite so appealing as he knelt before her, his pristine cravat only slightly mussed after their wild coupling, his morning coat of Spanish blue intensifying the hue of his eyes, the rich darkness of his hair and olive skin.

  She glanced away from him, unable to meet those intent eyes. Her gaze wandered over the tranquil scene before her, but a flush bloomed in her cheeks when she accidentally glanced at the wall of the gazebo where she had just allowed him, no, encouraged him to take her like a harlot in an alley.

  Her hands covered her cheeks and she squirmed in horror and shame. What was wrong with her? That wanton creature wasn’t her! She glared at Asher. It was all his fault! He did something to her, bewitched her, and made her act as no self-respecting, decent widow ever would. And she liked it. A lot.

  “If I marry you,” she began carefully, “what will happen to Rosevale and my servants?”

  Taken aback, he blinked. Trust Juliana, he thought amused, to be thinking of practical measures at a time like this. Recovering quickly, he shrugged and said, “Juliana, I don’t give a damn about your house, or your servants or your fortune…all I care about is whether you will become my wife or not.”

  Her eyes searched his. “Asher, I…”

  His grip on her hand tightened. “Can you deny what is between us? Can you deny that I only have to touch you and you go up in flames in my arms? I certainly cannot deny that you are the only woman I have ever wanted to be my wife, nor that I only have to see you to want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I catch sight of you and all I can think of is how much I want you, how sweet and giving you are in my arms.”

  His words touched her and she nearly tossed caution to the winds and gave him the answer he wanted, the answer she wanted to give him. She took a deep breath. “I want to marry you,” she admitted softly, “but until my husband died, I never had the freedom to make my own choices…. My entire life had been arranged around my father and then my husband’s wishes.” She half smiled. “Do not pity me or think that I was abused or that I was unhappy, I wasn’t…but I wasn’t entirely happy either.” She looked away. “After my husband died and I put my grief behind me, I discovered that I very much liked ordering my life as I saw fit, making my own decisions. My father objected to my buying Rosevale, he wanted me to return to Kirkwood, but I no longer had to obey him—I could buy my own home, if I wanted to, and I did. It was a heady experience. During the past few years I’ve learned that with no husband or father to answer to, for the first time in my life, I only have to consider my needs and I have liked it very much.” Her troubled gaze swung back to him and she murmured, “Once we marry, Rosevale, my servants, my independence will no longer be mine—everything I own will be under your command.”

  He studied her for a long moment, thinking about what she had said. He supposed he should be outraged by her reservations. The law and custom would indeed put everything she owned under his control, but with his mother’s example before him, he didn’t dismiss Juliana’s fears out of hand.

  When his mother married Denning there had been no lands or large fortune involved, but even if she had been an heiress, except for perhaps a widow’s jointure, his stepfather would have been able to use any lands or money she brought to the marriage as he saw fit. Asher’s mouth thinned. And Denning would have gambled every penny of it away. He supposed he should be insulted, if not affronted by Juliana’s reservations, but having watched his mother struggle to keep the family afloat while Denning gambled and drank away the funds that would have made his mother’s life so much more comfortable and easier, Juliana had his sympathy.

  Rising to his feet, he sat down in the chair next to hers
. Keeping her hands in his, he said quietly, “I am not asking for your hand because I wish to gain control of either your property, your servants or your fortune. I am asking you to marry me because I cannot imagine a life without you.” He frowned. “We can resolve part of the problem by putting Rosevale and as much of your fortune as you like in trust for your exclusive use. I would naturally settle a generous amount of pin money on you.” He half smiled. “As for the rest…Juliana, do you seriously believe that I would deny you the comfort and company of your own servants? I may be highhanded at times, I cannot pretend otherwise, I may even enrage you at times, but you must believe that I would never mistreat you or be deliberately cruel.”

  Shaken, she stared at him. She could not think of any other man who would so calmly accept her position. “You really would put Rosevale in trust for me?” she asked carefully.

  “Yes, I really would.” His eyes darkened. “I would do just about anything to have you as my wife.” A whimsical expression crossed his face. “How much more must I grovel? Won’t you give me the answer I want? Won’t you trust me enough to know that I will always care for you?”

  Did she trust him? Her gaze moved slowly over his handsome face. She loved him. How could she love him and yet not trust him? Didn’t they go hand in hand? He had made huge concessions, concessions that would have disgusted or enraged a lesser man, and he had done it generously and with little hesitation. Did she honestly believe that Asher would suddenly turn into an ogre? Of course not!

  “You must think me very silly or a grasping harpy,” she muttered, her eyes dropping to where their hands lay locked together between them.

  He smiled at her down-bent head. “I think you are infuriating, stubborn and absolutely adorable. Now will you marry me?”