Further Than Passion

by Cheryl Holt

  "Look what I have, Marcus." She wiggled her fingers. "It's your ring. I can't explain why I have it. Can you? Are you cringing? Are you presuming I stole it? I haven't been back to your residence in London, yet the accursed bauble materialized here at mine. How will you respond? Will you call for the law to come fetch me?"

  He held up his own hand, the cuff of his jacket pulling away, and she saw a piece of green ribbon tied around his wrist. "This is yours. Do you recognize it?"

  “I had one like it. I lost it when I was in London."

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  "You didn't lose it. It surfaced in my bedchamber after I swallowed that blasted love potion."

  She blanched. "You knew about that?"

  He advanced on her. "And after you were released from Newgate, after you left for Doncaster without speaking to me or saying farewell, after you indicated that you wanted nothing to do with me, I threw it away a dozen times. But it kept reappearing on my dresser." He halted in front of her, the toes of his boots slipping under the hem of her skirt. "I went to the apothecary."

  "You didn't."

  "I did. He maintains that the reason I can't be shed of it is because we're meant to be together."

  "He's mad. You are mad."

  "Am I?" From inside his jacket, he retrieved a vial, and balanced it in his palm. "I bought some more."

  "It isn't genuine."

  "Isn't it?" He tugged at the cork, and the musty smell of the red liquid permeated the air. "I think it is. Will you drink it for me, Kate?"

  "Are you insane?"

  "I'll try anything, so long as I can make you love me again." Like the snake, tempting Eve in the Garden, he dangled it, offering it to her, daring her. "My house is so quiet without you, and I am so lonely."

  "Whose fault is that?"

  "My own. I've no one to blame but myself. I've ruined every relationship that ever mattered to me, but I'm weary of being so alone. You showed me a different way."

  Her head began to throb, and to ease the ache, she rubbed her temples. He was confounding her, mystifying

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  her with his frank and blunt confessions. "What do you want from me?"

  "I'm begging you to give me another chance." He linked their fingers and squeezed tight. "You used to insist that I was worth loving, that I was worth having. I can be the man you supposed me to be. Let me try. Let me prove to you that I can do better. Please."

  She scrutinized him, caught up in the blue of his eyes. The stark depth of his pronouncement had stunned her. Such bald emotion was foreign to him, fervent remarks being alien to his character, and she couldn't conceive of why he'd humble himself with the gallant articulation.

  Unless he really loves me?

  The gripping prospect washed over her. Could he be serious? He certainly seemed earnest and sincere. What if he was?

  The likelihood that he might acknowledge his feelings had never occurred to her. She hadn't imagined she'd ever see him again, hadn't imagined that they'd have a subsequent opportunity to talk, so she'd never tortured herself with striving to envision how a make-believe conversation might progress.

  But he was here, and reaching out to her, uttering declarations that she'd never dreamed she'd hear from him. He was beseeching her, for her forgiveness, for her absolution and empathy. He was proud and vain, yet he'd lowered himself to implore that her affection be restored, and she couldn't disregard such a startling gesture.

  What did she want? Did she want him? Could she return to being the person who'd been so dreadfully

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  smitten? Was that woman still lurking somewhere inside? Could she risk so much again? Could she bear the agonizing, fabulous spiral of lust and ardor he so readily induced?

  The questions made her heart pound.

  Over her weeks of reflection and recovery, she'd condemned him for what had transpired, but deep down, she grasped that he wasn't responsible. Regina had manipulated them all, had coerced and bullied and connived. Who had been immune? Even the lawyers had been duped by her schemes.

  From discussions with Selena, Kate was aware that Marcus had struggled, behind the scenes, to rectify the damage Regina had wrought. He'd had her punished in the fashion that would most torment her, recouped Selena's monies, fixed the problems with Kate's father's will so that she wasn't a poverty-stricken servant but a woman of consequence.

  He'd acted privately, discreetly, being not the sort of man who would want others to learn of his good deeds, one who wouldn't want to be complimented or praised for his efforts.

  Though she'd yearned to hate him, she couldn't. She'd worked to persuade herself that her fondness for him had been an aberration, a blunder brought on by their odd circumstances, but as she gazed into his dear face, she realized that she'd been fooling herself. He meant the world to her, and she was eager to revert to those bliss-filled days when she'd been consumed by him, when she'd been obsessed, addicted, devoted. It was the sole time she'd ever felt truly alive, truly content.

  Had she ever ceased loving him?

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  "I don't need any potion." She clasped the vial, tossing it to the ground. "I love you. I never stopped."

  Desperate to be in his arms, she took the first step. In their separate isolations, they were both wretched. Perhaps together, they could build something durable and worthwhile.

  He drew her to him, holding her so tightly that she couldn't breathe.

  "I'm a mess without you, Kate. Marry me. Come to London. Be my wife. Be my friend. You are my sun, my moon, my very existence. Without you, I'm nothing at all."

  He was shaking, his sentiments as ragged as her own, and she nestled herself closer, melded so that her pulse beat in a rhythm with his own. "I'm so afraid to say yes. Convince me that it's the right thing to do."

  "Oh, Kate," he murmured, "of course it's the right thing. Do you have any idea how miserable I've been?"

  He dipped down and kissed her, his lips falling lightly on hers, but quickly, the embrace intensified, becoming profound and overwhelming. She clutched at his jacket, relishing the ferocity of their joining. Memories had been too painful, so she'd forced herself to forget the taste of him, the feel of him, but she was like a starved animal that had finally been fed, a lost, wandering nomad who'd finally stumbled upon an oasis.

  Their lips parted, and he nervously studied her. She could tell that he was scared he'd miscalculated, terrified that a mere kiss would be ineffectual and that he'd failed in his quest to sway her. But he couldn't know the joy that was singing inside her. After all that had happened, it seemed a miracle that they could bond with such elation and ecstasy.

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  How could she have had any doubts?

  She smiled. "I'd have to visit Doncaster occasionally. To see my sister."

  "Absolutely. She'd have my head if you didn't."

  "And you'll have to buy a new bed, one that's been used just by us."

  At the request, he chuckled. "I already have."

  "I expect you to be a real husband to me. That you'll be at home, and not off gallivanting, where I'm worried about you and wondering where you are."

  "I wouldn't want to be anywhere but by your side."

  "You'll have to give me many, many children, and be around to help me raise them."

  "I can't wait."

  "There can be no other women. Only me from now on."

  "Only you, Kate. Only you, forevermore."

  "Then, yes, I'll marry you."

  He nodded solemnly. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I'm sure."

  "I'm so glad."

  "So am I."

  "I'm not much of a catch."

  "I think you are."

  "But I swear that I will always love you. Till my dying day and beyond. I will always make you happy."

  "I know you will."

  The sun dropped below the horizon, and they lingered in the grass, listening to the sounds a
s night fell around them. The sky faded to indigo, and the stars began to twinkle. There were so many things that needed to be said, so many issues that had to be addressed, but they could be postponed till later. It was so marvelous

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  simply to be together. No words could make the moment any more special.

  "Are you going to invite me in?" he ultimately asked.

  "I'm tired of eating supper alone, so yes, I guess I am."

  Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms, one hand behind her back, and the other under her knees.

  She giggled and swatted at his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

  "I'm claiming you." ,

  "As your what?"

  "As my prize."

  "Put me down."

  "No. I want your servants to have something about which to gossip."

  This was the Marcus she remembered. He could be imperious, he could be bossy, he could be impossibly arrogant, but he was hers, and he loved her beyond imagining. How lucky she was!

  She hugged him, as he marched across the grass, entered her house, and kicked the door shut behind them.

  "I'm here to stay," he announced—loudly—for anyone lingering nearby, and she grinned, thrilled to know that he meant it.

  Bestselling author CHERYL HOLT is a lawyer, novelist and mom who lives on the Oregon coast. Her varied employment history includes public school teacher, mediator, cook, bartender, lobbyist, musician, and political activist.

  A graduate of the University of Wyoming College of Law, she worked as a law clerk for the Attorneys General of Colorado and Wyoming. Later, she served as a deputy district attorney in metro-Denver.

  Her writing has been nominated for numerous national awards, and she's proud to have received the prestigious Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times Book Club magazine.

  Further Than Passion is her thirteenth book.

  www.cherylholt.com cheryl@cherylholt.com