Private Passions

by Felicia Greene

  ‘Thank you.’ He heard her whisper over the roar of the rain, wrenching through his heart. ‘Thank you for finding him.’

  ‘Don’t thank me.’ Atuk clung to her, only dimly aware of the rain soaking through to his shirt. ‘Please. I am an atrocious idiot, and beyond redemption, and so terribly sorry I could die.’

  ‘No, I am sorry. I said terrible things that I didn’t mean, because I was frightened… and you found Hercules.’ Violet cupped his face, her palms warm against his cheeks. ‘You found him.’

  ‘I will always find him. Always.’ Atuk blinked away a tear as it washed away in the rain. ‘But—oh, just let me stay with you, at your side. I have been foolish enough to let this change me, even if you remain unchanged, and it will kill me if I cannot at least see you—’

  He stopped as Violet’s lips met his. Not a first kiss, or an exploratory kiss, or a punishing kiss, or any of the kisses they had shared before. Hard, raw, ferocious in its trembling openness, it fixed him to the moment as surely as the moon in the sky.

  ‘I am much changed.’ She rested her forehead against his. ‘Or perhaps I am more myself. In any case, please stay at my side. Please.’

  ‘Forever.’ Atuk spoke hoarsely, kissing her with the desperation of a man who knew how close he had come to losing everything. ‘Forever, Violet Belgrave. Forever, which begins with us going to your room.’

  ‘Why?’ Violet’s hands gripped the collar of his coat. ‘I could kiss you in the rain for a much longer time.’

  ‘And I could do much more. But as much as I want to, I am not going to take you on a patch of damp grass. Perhaps later—definitely later—but not now.’ Atuk kissed her again, marvelling at the softness of her mouth. ‘Now, we are going to your bed. It’s closer than mine, and Hercules needs his home.’

  ‘I sometimes think you’re quite enamoured with Hercules.’ Violet smiled. ‘You care for him very much.’

  ‘I do.’ Atuk swept Violet into his arms, ignoring her cry of surprise. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to lock him in the vegetable box as soon as we get inside.’

  Violet was silent as Atuk carried her through the Tudor door, moving swiftly and quietly up the stairs. She held Hercules tight, her face pressed to Atuk’s damp shirt, trying to control the tempest raging in her breast.

  He was here; he had come back, despite her stupid words, despite her coldness. He had come back, and rescued Hercules, and was taking her to bed.

  It was almost worrying, how normal it felt. How right. But it had always felt right, hadn’t it, despite the strangeness of their experiment. Underneath the novelty, the strange feeling of having trespassed, whatever they had done felt like familiar ground.

  It could never have been anyone else. Just him. And even if they were discovered now; even if a nosy porter, or a fellow student, happened upon them, everything would be alright. All of this, all of it, was what came naturally.

  Moving with his usual swift grace, Atuk carried her down the corridor. He pushed open the door of her room, gently placing her on her feet as he closed the door behind them.

  ‘I didn’t lock the door.’ Violet looked at him apologetically. ‘I was so worried about Hercules, I ran straight out to find a messenger boy.’

  ‘Of course.’ Atuk slid the bolt across the door, turning to her. ‘But I’m locking it now.’

  It was the first time, Violet thought dimly, that they have been in a locked room together. If she had simply bolted the door upon their first meeting, they could have saved so much time... but really, every second spent with him was precious. All those priceless minutes they had spent building their friendship, binding their souls, had led inextricably to this moment.

  She put Hercules down, watching the tortoise walk into the vegetable box of his own accord. As she turned, Atuk gently pulled her into his arms.

  ‘Just to be very clear, Violet Belgrave—I love you.’ Atuk looked at her steadily. ‘This is not an experiment. I’m frankly unsure as to whether it ever was. All I am sure of, and I am very sure, is that I love you.’

  His words dove into the amorphous mass of feelings running wild in Violet’s body, calming troubled waters, revealing their depth. It really was the only possible way of describing how she felt about him, and he about her. How had they both been so blind, so scared, as to not say it until now?

  ‘I love you too.’ She swallowed. ‘I think I always have.’

  ‘As as I.’ Atuk stepped forward. ‘Now… come here.’

  With the quiet, passionate intimacy that came with a wealth of knowledge and care, they fell upon one another. Violet barely felt her damp clothes falling away from her body as she unbuttoned Atuk’s waistcoat and shirt, dropping them to the floor as she laid trembling hands on his skin. She kissed his bare chest without considering her actions, his quiet gasp fuelling her onward as she pulled him closer to the heat of the dying fire.

  In some ways, the experiment had failed completely. She knew that with any other man, she would be too paralysed with anxiety to even contemplate touching him—let alone eagerly respond to his touches. What this journey had taught her was that she was made for Atuk Morothwaite, and he for her; two tunes that together formed the perfect melody. There was no need to feel frightened, or uncomfortable, with a man that was practically a part of herself.

  Slowly, softly, they made their way from the fireside floor to the bed. Violet smiled as Atuk enveloped them both in blankets, seemingly concerned for her comfort as he lay against her, his hardness evident against her thigh. Gently, his skin golden in the dim firelight, he removed her chemise in between long, deep kisses.

  ‘And my stockings?’ Violet looked down at her lower legs, still clad in black.

  ‘No. Keep those.’ Atuk moved even closer, running one finger along her leg as he rested atop her. ‘There’s something rather wonderful about removing trousers and finding stockings.’ He shifted, hard, tight against the dark patch of curls at the meeting of her thighs. ‘This... this feeling, too. Wonderful.’

  ‘Yes.’ Violet reached downward, pulling down his linen drawers, gasping as his freed cock touched her naked flesh. ‘But... but I… As I said. As you know.’ She bit her lip, not knowing how to phrase it. ‘I… I lack experience in this arena. I fear I may not live up to expectations.’

  Atuk’s warm, open gaze assuaged her fear a little. ‘In this arena, I am as inexperienced as you.’

  ‘That is inaccurate, and you know it.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I have never loved anyone before—not as I love you.’ Atuk’s voice trembled a little. ‘So my experience is just as limited.’

  Violet was speechless. Leaning back into the blankets, she could do nothing but smile. Smile, and gasp at the onslaught of pleasure that assailed her as he began to use his hands, his mouth, marking her body as his own.

  Silent, his eyes both grave and tender, Atuk’s gaze cocooned her in a world where only the two of them existed… the world she’d half-inhabited ever since the beginning of their friendship, moving closer and closer to this point. The bliss could only build; a new peak quivered inside her, almost uncomfortable in its intensity. All she could do—all she wanted to do—was hold on.

  ‘Yes.’ She whispered it, clinging tightly. ‘Please. Yes.’

  Atuk didn’t know how he managed to keep pace; to slow down, to quieten the desire raging in him. Violet naked, Violet moaning, the scent of her hair and skin and slick, waiting mound, warm against his cock, drove him to a pleasurable distraction one step away from madness.

  All he could do was focus on her. Her want guided his, setting the speed. Any kiss he gave her only increased his hunger; the deep ones to her neck, the slow, teasing ones to her breasts. Even the light, sweet kisses to the palms of her hands, her fingertips—all of them only fuelled the fire, his hips beginning to thrust.

  He moaned as his cock parted her outer lips, sliding along her flushed entrance as Violet whimpered beneath him, her hips moving upward to meet his. So close, so ver
y close, to where he always should have been.

  ‘I’m ready.’ Violet strained her hips forward, biting her lip. ‘Please.’

  ‘It… it will hurt.’ Atuk realised he was frightened of hurting her, of making her uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I told you. I’m ready.’ The courage in Violet’s eyes melted Atuk’s heart. ‘And you never know. I spent a lot of time on horseback as a child.’

  Atuk had to smile. What a Violet thing to say. ‘So you’re telling me not to worry?’

  ‘Yes.’ Violet smiled back. ‘And I’m telling you, very clearly, that I am ready.’

  Thank God he’d found her. Thank God he’d realised how precious she was. With a long, slow kiss, his heart full, Atuk began to move inside her.

  Oh, Lord. Hot, wet, perfect. He felt Violet stiffen, her hands gripping his neck, and willed himself to go more slowly. Small, delicious moments, one inch after another… how glorious she felt, enveloping him, taking him. How delightful it was to watch pleasure flowering in her eyes, dissolving the initial pain.

  With a shuddering breath, he stopped. He was deep inside her now, profoundly joined; he closed his eyes, almost unable to bear the depth of feeling. The link between their hearts, their souls, had finally reached their bodies… and oh, it was magnificent. More magnificent than anything he had ever felt.

  Finally giving in to the rhythm coursing through his body, he began to thrust slow and deep as he let her body guide her. Every moment Violet made was pure bliss; the way she tightened around him, exploring, her breath hitching as her thighs tensed. The way the whisper-thin fabric of her stockings slid against his bare skin as she moved, sending thrills along his nerves, teasingly sensual as she cried out beneath him.

  Seconds, minutes, hours—even days had lost their meaning. All that existed was Violet; her body, her voice, her growing pleasure. Even though he was ready—more than ready—to finish, Atuk knew he wouldn’t. Not until he felt Violet’s climax come, and heard it in her voice.

  More thrusts, more kisses, more love; love that was indistinguishable from pleasure, making it brighter. Love that only grew as he felt Violet begin to writhe beneath him, gripping him tighter, her cries acquiring a plaintive, frustrated air. Atuk realised he was murmuring in her ear between kisses; soft words of encouragement, of pleading, of please…

  ‘Ah!’ There it was; there was the bliss in Violet’s eyes, the shock, the coming apart. Atuk gritted his teeth, moaning as her pleasure rippled through him. He couldn’t wait, not any longer—it had to be now. Together, as they always were, as they always should be.

  ‘Oh, Violet.’ He held her to him, shaking as his climax overwhelmed him. ‘Oh, Violet. I love you.’

  They lay entwined for hours, the fire cooling, Hercules munching happily from the vegetable box. Atuk kept looking down at Violet, unable to believe she was in his arms—and equally unable to believe that she had never been in his arms before.

  ‘So, frater.’ She lay against his bare chest, smiling, and happiness washed over Atuk like a wave. ‘What is the next stage of the experiment?’

  ‘Oh, it’s very straightforward.' Atuk leaned upward, kissing her hair. ‘We marry, have children, and love one another for the rest of our lives—having children along the way, if we feel so inclined. Very simple, really.’

  ‘Oh, good. I do adore simplicity.’ Violet sleepily pulled the blankets over them both, cocooning them in warm, intimate darkness. ‘As simple as this, in fact. Nothing else to see but you.’

  ‘Alas, I doubt we’ll be able to spend the rest of our lives looking adoringly at one another. A good portion of the time, but not all of it.’ Atuk hugged her tighter. ‘We can write a letter to your parents as soon as we manage to leave this bed.’

  ‘I see. A week or two, then.’ Violet began to laugh quietly. ‘I can’t imagine what I’m going to tell Thomasina. She’ll be terribly shocked. I don’t think the poor woman knows quite what she unleashed.’

  ‘If you’re going to hold Thomasina’s hand while you take her through the terrible news, I suppose I’ll have to do the same for Nikau. He’ll be most surprised that his well-meaning advice had such powerful results.’ Atuk frowned. ‘At least... I think he'll be surprised.’

  He thought back to their hungover conversation in Nikau’s apartments, and the way Amy had signed to her husband. Signed with a slightly smug smile, as if setting wheels in motion…

  ‘Frater, stop thinking.’ Violet snuggled closer. ‘I can hear you thinking. Let’s be still, and bask in the surprise we’ll be giving our friends.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nikau banished his growing suspicions with some difficulty. ‘A surprise.’

  Days later, as the sun rose on the handsome environs of Belgrave House, a cry of triumph split the air. Jemima Belgrave, as elegantly eccentric as fifty as she had been at twenty, ran into her husband’s study with a letter clutched tightly in her hands.

  ‘Darling!’ She looked at her husband with shining eyes, hugging her dressing gown to her as she held the letter aloft. ‘It’s happening! It’s really happening!’

  ‘Pardon?’ Henry Belgrave looked up from his letters, a disbelieving smile on his face. ‘You don’t mean to say that—’

  ‘As soon as term ends, Atuk Morothwaite the Third will be coming here with Violet.’ Jemima threw up her hands, giggling. ‘He intends to ask you for her hand!’

  Henry threw down his pen, a delighted burst of laughter rattling the window panes as he took his wife in his arms. He hugged her tightly, letters forgotten, birds singing outside the window as if in shared amazement. ‘I cannot believe it. I renounce all ludicrous claims to superiority, and will leave all trade matters to you as I slip into my dotage.’

  ‘As if something as dull as trade merits my mental acuity.’ Jemima clutched the crumpled letter to her chest, a hint of a tear at the corner of her eye. ‘Oh, darling, I never thought it would work. Never in a million years. The meddling of an old woman with too little to do…’

  ‘The wise intervention of a woman in the prime of life, who keeps half the village fed and clothed when she’s not counselling young ladies and reprimanding young gentlemen.’ Henry gently pinched his wife’s cheek. ‘Still… even for a woman of your talents, it seemed almost impossible.’

  ‘When all seems impossible, one must make only the grandest and most glorious of attempts. That way, if one fails, one at least fails spectacularly.’ Jemima wiped away the stray tear on her husband’s shirt. ‘My goodness, just think what could have happened if they hadn’t managed to come to an understanding.’

  ‘Quite. I would have had a very confused Lord Brandmead in my study, asking me why on earth Violet seemed to think he was interested in marrying her.’ Henry sighed. ‘That would have been most awkward.’

  ‘Now, thank goodness, Lord Brandmead never needs to know about my little scheme.’ Jemima tucked the letter into the pocket of her dressing gown, patting it with great satisfaction. ‘Violet has clearly stated her case to the only man who ever seemed to really matter to her. All she needed was a little push—I call that victory. Victory, and an excuse for more buttered rolls.’ She smiled at her husband. ‘I’ll go and tell Cook to start buttering.’

  ‘I agree with you, darling, as I do with everything of import. Buttered rolls it shall be.’ Henry kissed his wife’s forehead with mock gravity. ‘But before you do, write your reply to Violet—or you’ll completely forget. I know you.’

  ‘Correct as ever. Lend me a pencil and a chair, and we can go to the kitchen together.’ Jemima put her finger to her chin, thinking. ‘And given that I am replying to such happy news... can something be done, perhaps, for Violet’s dear friend Thomasina?’

  THE END

  Rakes and Cakes: The Complete Rakes and Cakes Regency Collection

  A Sprinkling of Scandal

  by Felicia Greene

  He won’t attend. He never does. Cora Seabrooke repeated the words to herself as she entered the gleaming, candlelit hall of Ashcroft
house, Lady Chiltern beaming beside her. She looked down at her gown, the only really fine gown she still possessed, and noted a small snag at the hem with a frown. He’s famous for not attending.

  ‘My dear, keep your head up. Up, and proud.’ Lady Chiltern smiled at her encouragingly, her eyes bright and glittering in the candle flames. ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, dear. If you act as if you do, the carrion crows will begin to circle.’

  Cora almost laughed. Carrion crows was certainly the correct turn of phrase for the part of the ton that had never particularly welcomed the Seabrooke family, and had all-but-openly rejoiced in their disgrace. But the idea that she had nothing to be ashamed of, well… that was entirely too graceful a presumption of her new employer.

  Had she lost her family fortune? No. Had she forced her father to run away to sea, leaving her mother’s grave untended and his only daughter abandoned? A firmer no. Had she languished in genteel poverty, or become a burden to some patronising relative, instead of seeking—and finding—employment with courageous frankness? Again… no.

  She wasn’t ashamed of her new-found poverty. Lady Chiltern treated her with the respect that the Seabrooke name used to command, before her father’s misdeeds. She not only paid her handsomely, but allowed her to attend the same social functions as the family—not normally done, of course, but Lady Chiltern was a rich and powerful widow of only thirty-eight, who had enough land to do exactly as she liked. Neither was she ashamed of her new status in the eyes of her few friends. Worried, perhaps, that they would feel embarrassment—but not ashamed.

  She looked down at her gown again, mentally organising a half-hour of mending into her already busy week. Neither was she ashamed of being technically in trade; the alternative was starvation, which seemed a little far to go for one’s pride. What had her skin prickling with shame—hot, corrosive shame, mixed with anger and sadness and a good dose of pure spite—was her surroundings; the fine, well-appointed house which she had avoided for five long years.