Once Upon a True Love's Kiss

by Julie Johnstone

  "Why didn't he just come to me and tell me from the start he didn't love me?" She leaned into him, eager to feel his heart beat against her cheek.

  "Because he's a cur. I should have told him I wouldn't do it, but I was a fool who wanted to help him out. I went to the garden out of loyalty to him, but when I saw you that first time in the garden, God how I wanted you, Gemma. Everything we'd shared over the years, it just came rushing back to me and I couldn't walk away from you." He tilted her chin up so she had to look him in the eye.

  "You truly love me?" His warmth against hers fogged up her mind, but she had to be sure of him and his love.

  "More than you know," he admitted with an unexpected vulnerability in his eyes that made her love him all the more.

  "I climbed a bloody trellis, braving thorny peril for you my fair huntress. Now, give me an answer, one that won't break this poor sailor's heart. Can I yet reach the fair star that shines in my night sky?" His lips teased her cheek and for the briefest second she forget to breathe.

  She loved Jasper. The realization made her giddy.

  "I…I will marry you Jasper." She turned her head to catch his lips with hers in a sweet, tender kiss, one full of emotion and nothing else between them except that love which had once burned only upon the pages of their letters. Now it burned between their lips.

  He brushed her hair back and she caught his hand, seeing the red angry bruises on his knuckles.

  "What happened?" she asked, then brushed her lips over his reddened skin.

  He frowned a little. "I hit James."

  "You hit James? What on earth for?" She couldn't imagine the two men coming to blows.

  "He was being himself, and I was tired of him besmirching an innocent woman's good name," he said.

  She raised his hand to her lips again and lovingly kissed the tender bruises. He'd defended her honor. Such a gentleman rogue…and he was hers.

  "You know, if you want to heal my other wounds with your kisses, I was recently attacked by Lady Greenley in several places." His lips curved into a deeply dangerous smile that made Gemma's body flash with tempting heat.

  "Oh? And where would that be?" She arched an eyebrow at him, offering a warm smile to encourage him.

  He touched his cheek, she kissed it. He touched his neck and she pressed a kiss there too. He pulled his blouse off and touched his chest. Gemma feathered her lips down from his neck inch by pleasurable inch.

  "Anywhere else?" she asked in a low sultry voice.

  His eyes darkened and he hissed out a breath, adjusting his trousers. "Well…" He started to touch his thigh when footsteps thudded on the stairs.

  "Quick, get down. It's my father!" She shoved him off the bed behind her, ignoring the thump and the stifled groan. At the moment her father knocked on her door, she kicked at Jasper's body by her legs, urging him to slide under her bed.

  "Gemma dear? Are you all right? May I come in?" her father asked, his voice a little muffled by the wooden door.

  "I'm not entirely decent, papa, but you may peek inside if you wish," she called out.

  "I'd like a peek inside too," Jasper's wicked whisper slithered up her bare legs and a warm hand started to slide up her calf.

  She kicked out, but Jasper's hand didn't leave.

  Her father poked his head in the door and looked at her, a pleasant smile hovering about his lips. "Everything all right dear?"

  "Yes, I'm fine, just preparing for bed," she lied.

  He studied her with an unreadable gaze and she flushed. It had everything to do with Jasper's lips against the inside of her thigh, just out of her father's sight.

  "Well, your mother is turning in for the night. I'll be up a little while longer if you need me." Her father started to leave but paused, and with another little twist of his lips, he spoke again. "Mr. Holland, when you find yourself able to rise from behind my daughter's bed, please come to my study so you and I might discuss Gemma's dowry." And then her father shut the bedroom door leaving them alone again.

  Gemma fell back onto the bed mortified, burying her face in her hands.

  Jasper leapt to his feet and towered over her where she sat on the bed. He gently shoved her flat on her back and slid his hands underneath her chemise, trying to lift it off her.

  "Jasper, what are you doing?" She tried to tug her chemise back down, but he brushed her hands away.

  "Your father doesn't expect me for a little while, so let's enjoy the moment," he purred. He kissed her lips while parting her legs and eased himself down onto her.

  Gemma giggled when he nibbled on her ear. She loved the way he could be part rough and part gentle as though his need for her was so great, but his love for her tempered him enough to go slower when she needed it.

  "You're terrible, you know that?" she said, her breath coming faster now. She let her hands roam over his back, and she grasped his shirt, lifting it up. Bare skin, that's what she wanted. His skin beneath her hands so she could feel every muscle move and twitch while he made love to her.

  "You expect me to admire my star from afar? I think not, I've tasted the heaven that is your love and cannot bear to wait another second…" His voice was husky and his eyes dreamily half-closed as he cupped one of her breasts, massaging it gently, expertly, until she panted with the desire to have his mouth there.

  Jasper pressed down harder against her, the force of his desire pressed against her now aching core.

  How could love making with him be like this? Half passion, half delight, as though being with him was not only about pleasure, but about sheer breathless joy? Who knew love could be this way? That she could be in love with a man and feel so close to him, inside and out as she did now. That they could enjoy each other while being so intimate. It was wondrous. Simply wondrous. Another one of life's miracles she wouldn't take for granted.

  "That wouldn't perhaps be Lady Greenley's parasol would it?" She teased and slid her hand underneath him to stroke him through his breeches. She cupped the thick length of him, squeezed hard enough that he growled against her neck and nipped her ear lobe. The tender spot that made her entire body explode with a fiery need that would have her begging soon.

  "Good God no, but I promise to use it much better than a parasol…" His rich voice rumbled in a deep throaty chuckle as he freed himself of his pants.

  With a little wriggle she got closer and he positioned himself. One thrust and he was in her to the hilt. She whimpered at the stretching and the ghost of pain, but it didn't last long before pleasure overtook it.

  Their faces were close, their bodies touching everywhere and something about that realization made her tremble. Every part of her was open to him, not just her body, but her heart.

  "Do you promise to love me, forever?" she asked as their bodies rocked together in perfect sync.

  He captured her wrists and pinned them onto the bed beside her head, the dominant move making her burn even hotter. He had control of them both now, could do anything he liked to her and because she trusted him, she knew he would only ever give her pleasure.

  "I don't have to promise you, Gemma," he murmured against her mouth and thrust into her slowly, gently, as though he had all the time in the world to make love to her.

  "What?" Confusion flitted across her passion dazed mind.

  He chuckled, slid himself deeper into her, hitting a spot that made her entire body go limp. A climax hit her hard enough that she saw stars.

  "Promises can be broken. My love for you? How I feel about you, about us? It's not something that will ever break. You're mine, Gemma Haverford, and I'm never letting you go."

  Neither of them spoke. He continued to rock his body against hers, and she rode out the rippling aftershocks of pleasure while watching him come above her. His parted lips, the widening of his eyes, and the smile of bliss that followed.

  "God, woman, I'm so glad you're mine." He whispered it so softly she thought for a moment she'd imagined it.

  Cupping his face, she traced his lips wit
h hers, and felt the sting of happy tears in her eyes. "And you're mine. I should have known better than to resist such a temptation."

  "Temptation?" He cocked a brow.

  "Oh yes, from the moment you touched me in the garden, you've been a wicked temptation, but now you're mine, my wicked rogue."

  "Wicked rogue? I rather like that." He flashed her a crooked smile that would have weakened her knees if she had still been standing.

  Gemma laughed before finding his lips on hers again. It was beautiful, this passion born of words, consummated with the body and endured by the souls. Every moment was worth the wait.

  THE REDEMPTION OF JULIAN PRICE

  by Victoria Vane

  The Redemption of Julian Price: Prologue

  Bishop's Castle, Shropshire, 1807

  TINY RIVULETS OF PERSPIRATION TRAILED A path down the shallow valley beneath Henrietta's bodice. She shifted in the pew, her underskirt clinging to her thighs. It had been the warmest August she could recall, but this day seemed the most stifling of them all. The church was crowded, airless, and growing increasingly oppressive as the vicar of St. Michael's droned on about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego while mopping his brow with a limp handkerchief.

  In the pew directly in front of her, Julian Price tugged on his cravat and mumbled a curse. "Bloody hell, I'm roasting alive. Thomas," he whispered to the boy beside him, "do you really suppose it can be any hotter than this in the pit of hell?"

  "If you don't reform your ways," Thomas retorted, "you will surely find out."

  Julian seemed to take particular joy in taunting the vicar's son, but Thomas always accepted his friend's jibes with equanimity. Although Julian and Thomas were chalk and cheese, they were still the best of chums. If it wasn't for Thomas, Julian would probably never have set foot in church.

  Henrietta coughed to disguise a giggle, but the scathing look from Mama told her the subterfuge had failed. She passed the remainder of the sermon watching Julian fidget until the congregation stood for the Lord's Prayer. The vicar had hardly murmured the final amen before Julian burst from the pew and bolted for the door, ripping at his neckcloth.

  "Where are you going in such a fury?" Henrietta's brother, Harry, called after him.

  "To the lake," Julian shot over his shoulder. "Come with me," he cast a defiant look at Harry and Henrietta's mother, "if you dare defy your dear mama."

  "Heathen boy," Mama murmured with the special glare she reserved solely for Julian. "He's become an abominable influence on Harry."

  "It's hardly Julian's fault, Mama," Henrietta protested.

  "I supposed it's only to be expected." Her mother's ample bosom rose and descended with a heavy sigh. "That uncle of his is an absolute disgrace as a guardian. He always was a ne'er-do-well."

  Henrietta had never seen Winston Price, but whispered tales of his debauchery circulated frequently, growing more sensational with every mention of his name.

  Although they'd spent many summers past enjoying Price Hall's fishing lake, Harry and Henrietta had been forbidden to visit Julian's home since his parents' passing three years ago. Julian had been away at school in Shrewsbury when smallpox had ravaged the village of Bishop's Castle, claiming the lives of his parents and baby sister, leaving Julian under the guardianship of his uncle. None too concerned with his responsibilities, Winston had placed Julian in the care of an unsupervised staff of servants. Left to his own devices, Julian had indeed run wild.

  It wasn't that Julian was a bad seed; he just had no one who truly cared about him other than his closest friends, Thomas, Henrietta, and her twin, Harry. The four of them had been nearly inseparable for as long as Hen could remember. Now she feared Mama would force her and Harry to sever the connection with him entirely.

  It was shortly after they arrived home from church that Hen and Harry perceived the chance to escape Mama's watchful eye. The opportunity had come with the arrival of the Ladies Auxiliary for the Michaelmas Fair, of which Mama was the chairwoman. Hen and Harry sneaked away right after tea, safe in the knowledge that their absence wouldn't be noted for several hours. They set out on foot, passing through the wooded acres that divided the two properties.

  The ornamental lake at Price Hall was located on the former grounds of one of the many motte-and-bailey castle ruins that dotted the Shropshire landscape. Old and crumbling, little of the original structure remained, but that had never prevented Henrietta and the boys from laying siege on the invisible ramparts.

  Thomas and Julian were sitting along the bank of the lake with poles in hand when Hen and Harry arrived. Sighting his friends, Julian tossed aside his fishing gear and leaped to his feet. "So you came after all? I was beginning to wonder if you would."

  "You should take greater care with Mama," Henrietta warned. "She already disapproves of you."

  "Everyone in Shropshire disapproves of me," Julian replied with a shrug.

  "And whose fault do you suppose that is?" she returned.

  "Will you please keep your voices down?" Thomas whispered. "You're going to scare away all the fish."

  "What bloody fish?" Julian asked. "We haven't caught a cursed one in nearly two hours." He kicked off his shoes and then began to strip down to his smallclothes.

  "What are you doing?" Thomas asked.

  "I'm going swimming," Julian declared. "I'm too bored and too damned hot to just sit here on the bank and bake when there's a perfectly good lake beckoning. Anyone care to race?" Julian challenged, nodding toward the other side.

  "What does the winner get?" Harry asked.

  Julian pursed his lips and cocked his head. "How about a bottle of French brandy?"

  "Brandy?" Thomas frowned. "There's a trade embargo. How would you have come by a bottle of brandy?"

  "My uncle sent several casks to store down here. French goods are a rare commodity these days."

  "I suppose that might be because they are illegal," Thomas said dryly.

  "Since I lack Thomas' scruples, I'll race you for it," Harry said with a laugh and began removing his clothes.

  "What about you, Hen?" Julian asked.

  "I… ah… don't know that I feel much like swimming today," she replied. Although she'd swum in this lake with the boys countless times, Henrietta watched them cast off clothing with a growing sense of discomfort. She'd never taken much notice of their anatomical differences until things had begun to change. . . or rather, she had begun to change.

  "Is that so?" Julian asked. "Hen has given up without a fight? That's a first, isn't it, Harry? She's usually the one to lead the charge in leaping fences and climbing trees."

  Henrietta jutted her chin. "You think I can't beat you, Julian?"

  "I know you can't," he said, adding with an arrogant look she wanted to wipe from his face, "but you are always welcome to try." His smirk said he knew the goad would work.

  He was right.

  "I accept your challenge," Henrietta answered. Turning her back to the boys, she kicked off her shoes and stockings and then wiggled out of the breeches she'd borrowed from Harry. She struggled a bit with her stays but managed them unaided while Julian and Harry impatiently waited. Would they notice? She was relieved when neither Thomas nor Julian gave her a second look.

  Her transformation had begun slowly several months earlier, unbeknownst to all but her chambermaid, Millie, who'd calmed Henrietta's panic when she'd awoken in a pool of blood. It was Millie, rather than Mama or Lavinia, who'd explained the changes nature had cruelly wrought upon her. And loyal Millie, as always, had kept her secret.

  "Aren't you going in too?" Julian asked Thomas, who had remained placidly seated, fishing pole in hand.

  "I hardly see the point," Thomas replied. "I'm a poor swimmer and have no interest in strong spirits. I'll just stay here on the bank and cheer you on."

  "Suit yourself," Julian said. "Or better yet, you can walk to the other side and judge the winner."

  As always, the boys stripped down to their breeches and Henrietta to her shift. Wearin
g only the thin layer of white linen, Henrietta stood on the bank nervously awaiting Thomas's signal to start. Just as Thomas shouted, "Go!" Julian shoved Harry into the water. Laughing and splashing all the way, Henrietta, Julian, and Harry raced across the ornamental lake, arriving panting on the other side, where Thomas declared Julian the victor. Harry was a close second, and Henrietta followed a dismally distant third. Only a year ago, she could have held her own against any of the boys, but once more nature had not proven her ally. Julian and Thomas, at fifteen, were two years the twins' senior and fast approaching manhood. They'd each sprouted at least four inches in two summers and outweighed her by well over a stone. Even Harry, who shared her birthday, was growing bigger and stronger by the day.

  "Tell you what, ol' chum," Julian consoled Harry, "I'll share the bottle with you."

  "What about me?" Henrietta asked. "I raced too." The moment she spoke up, she wished she hadn't. She should have just done as the others had, dragged herself up the muddy embankment and thrown herself onto the grass to dry. Instead, she'd stupidly drawn attention to herself and the transparent linen that now revealed all of her closely guarded secrets to three gaping faces.

  Harry was first to recover. "For God's sake, Hen, cover yourself!"

  Her gaze darted around in panic. With what? Her clothes were on the other side of the lake. Noble as ever, Thomas came to her rescue, stripping off his shirt and handing it to her, gaze downcast.

  "Thank you, Thomas." She accepted his dry garment, noting the color that suffused his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. She quickly pulled the dry shirt over her wet shift.

  "Go home, Hen," Harry demanded.

  "What do you mean?" she asked, perplexed.

  "Exactly as I said," Harry replied. "You are to get dressed and go back home to Mother and Lavinia." Henrietta gaped at her brother, unable to comprehend his radical alteration in behavior. He'd always treated her more as a brother than a sister. "Now, Hen," Harry insisted. "If you refuse, I'll tell Mama everything, and she'll never let you out of the house again."