Passion

by Gayle Eden

  Gabriella went into character as much to show him she understood, as to get her mind back on the goal. Her mouth tingled and her blood pounded, but she said and did all the right things, occasionally looking about and lowering her lids half-mast, smiling and then dismissing most of the well dressed in the haughty manner she perfected.

  Their prey entered the park as if on cue. She did not miss a beat and felt his eyes bore into her as he passed by on his blooded stallion. She could almost tell the moment he stopped and turned, and felt his eyes on them.

  “Take a seat at that bench ahead.”

  “Yes, all right.” She breathed a sigh of relief and sat gracefully on the bench, the parasol leaned against her knee, having felt the tightness, the tension in her body at seeing Stratton. Bitterness washed up in her throat. Rage, made her tremble.

  Raith, standing by her as if casually flirting with his lover, murmured, “If you cannot gather your wits when he is at such distance, you are not ready to seduce him into the trap.”

  Casting what she knew by practice was an adoring glance up at Raith, she replied, “I will be fine. I can do this. ‘Tis simply that I remembered the feel of those eyes, and the feel of his lust even before I was of age to—“

  “Enough. He is approaching.” Raith reached out and toyed with the brim of her hat, his dark eyes holding hers. “Play your role well.”

  Gabriella lifted a hand and took his, brushing it with her lips on a breathless laugh. Her eyes shifted at the sound of hooves and she knew Raith turned to eye Stratton, who was staring at her, tilting his hat in greeting.

  She arched her brow, gave a subtle nod, feeling Raith lay a possessive hand on her shoulder, relaying a message—which they both knew would be a challenge to the older man.

  Once he had passed, Raith took her back to the carriage.

  They proceeded on to the shopping district, three times encountering Stratton because Raith knew his habits, and each time those dark blue eyes raked her, no matter how polite the tilt of his head seemed, his smile, meant to be charming—was like a serpent to Gabriella. She could see his mind calculating.

  In the evening, they returned home. She stripped and sat for a private moment with her Turkish coffee before preparing for the theater. Gabriella sipped and stared sightless at the open window while she rehearsed what she would say to Stratton. He was a ruthless, impatient man, who got what he wanted by any means. It would take all her instincts to outsmart the devil.

  She must forget this attraction to Raith, being so bound to him in many complex ways, yet—everything they had planned, the whole reason she survived was here, the fruits of their unspoken contract, and that mutual pact of revenge.

  Stratton was more ruthless, than years ago. He had gotten away with much more than the abuse and murder that brought him into their lives. He was guarded by cutthroats, thugs, who were well rewarded at his brothels and from goods stolen from the docks. The only way to destroy him—was from the inside. The only way either one of them would ever be satisfied, was making that revenge intimate, tasting it, feeling, living it.

  She heard the door open.

  The maid entered. Gabriella smiled at her. The servants adhered to Raith’s strict rules and tread carefully in the house. They were intimidated by their aloof and strict master. As much as she sympathized, there was good reason to keep that distance and allow no attachments.

  An hour later, she dressed in an off the shoulder gown of ivory, the wide neckline provocatively low. Her hair was upswept, with several fat curls dangling, and a crownlet of diamonds graced it, matching the earrings she wore. Her gloves were ivory lace over satin, and her shoes ivory silk with diamond bows. The cape the maid latched at the throat shimmered in ivory and gold embroidered flowers.

  Below stairs, she faced a formally dressed Raith, his image that of an aristocrat save the neck-cloth he wore was deep burgundy, and his coat was not tailed, but a longer, richer one, of black silk and velvet. It reached to his ankles and emphasized his height.

  They took the coach and exited amid a crush, Gabriella, aware that his gaze moved as hers did, searching out their prey. It was not until the first act that Stratton showed up in his box. He was wearing dove gray with a sapphire neck-cloth, a good-sized jewel in the center, and rings on his thick fingers. She saw all the tale tale signs of a man displaying his assets, showing off his wealth. He was in the company of a male with angelic looks, and pale eyes, who wore all white.

  “His brother in law,” Raith informed with what she detected was a sneer. “The young female he attempted to introduce as his bride in society did not achieve whatever he thought to accomplish. She speaks no English, or so it is assumed, although I gather it was the contrast in their ages that put off those he wished to impress.”

  Behind her fan, she asked, “Will he make his move with you present?”

  “He would, though I plan to excuse myself in the next act—and when he approaches you, and he will, I do not have to remind you that everything hinges on your reception of him.”

  “No,” she murmured.

  For the remainder of the act, she felt that depraved stare from Stratton like a touch, thick with lust, saturated with what was likely a revolting fantasy in his vile mind.

  The moment came too soon for facing him.

  Gabriella nearly missed the second Raith stood and leaned down to speak to her, for she was fighting panic and the roll of her stomach. She nodded, smiled, and observed his departure from his box. Her palms grew damp, her breathing required concentration to control. Seconds ticked off in her mind. The crowds shifted, voices and laugher rose. The fan she employed gave her something to grip to keep her hand from shaking. Turning her head, she noted that Stratton’s box was empty.

  Gabriella stood with her hand on the back of the chair as if simply eyeing those below, but in reality not wishing to be seated and have to stare up at him.

  He entered, seeming larger than his already robust figure, a man who, not knowing his history, his monstrous cruelty, one might take for a polished and wealthy lord. His face lacked the refined lines, but it was handsome for his age. His clothing was of the finest cloth.

  “Madame,” he began with a full smile, “Forgive my intrusion, but I have been enthralled, enchanted by your beauty, from the moment I spied you in the park.” He bowed. “You look all the more entrancing tonight. I must know your name?”

  She nodded regally and supplied in sultry tones, accented with just enough flavor, “Tara. And yours…”

  “Stratton, Marcus Stratton.” He came a step closer, more than was needed to converse. His eyes raked her, lingering on her breasts, before he raised them. “You would render a lesser man speechless.”

  Aware of the message in that, she husked, “The man I allow in my life has little use for talk.” That was all too true, but the double meaning was there.

  He laughed, and though she kept her gaze on his, Gabriella felt his hand land near hers on the chair back. She hated looking up at him. Her skin crawled as his fingers subtly caressed hers.

  He offered in what was doubtless his most seductive drawl, “I am sure you keep him quite pleasantly occupied.”

  “Yes. He is quite a demanding….companion.”

  “I am confident it is your beauty that enslaves him.”

  His hand nearly covered hers. His eyes bore deeply. “I doubt, however, that he can reward you as handsomely as I. I am convinced, lovely Tara, that you are fated to be worshiped and adored by a man who can indulge you beyond your dreams.”

  With degradation and murder, she supplied mentally whilst smiling. “Lord Montovon is a most generous man. It would take much to lure me away from one I have grown so fond of.”

  His smile faltered. For a second his eyes darkened. However, he caught himself and uttered with relish, “I am surprised at that, m’dear. I have just this day discovered his less than impressive fortune and background. He is the younger son and has only a small entailment of his own. It does not appear from
the rumors, that your…protector, has any ties at all with his illustrious family, and is in fact, estranged.”

  His fingers lifted to touch the diamond in her ear. “These pretty bobbles are doubtless paste.”

  She feigned an interest in his tidbit. “Interesting. I rather enjoyed the mystery of not knowing everything about him. But then, I have only just met you, Sir, and have only your teasing hints as to your more—favorable comparison. Are you a peer, perhaps?”

  “I am a cut above a peer, for most are so empty of pocket they have me to thank, they are able to keep up appearances. In short, I am a merchant—much more though, I assure you. You will be hard pressed to find a man, of any rank, who can match my power and fortune.”

  Moving her hand, she rubbed below her bottom lip with her nail, giving him a sultry smile before purring, “Indeed. Well, I shall contemplate that, certainly. Nevertheless, I fear you must leave. My companion has only stepped out for a cheroot. He can be quite… ruthless, when protecting his…interests.”

  He took her hand, kissed it, and before leaving murmured, “I would show you what a coward most men are. To you, I offer the world, lovely Tara….”

  She sighed dramatically and replied, “It is tempting, but I cannot let you go with any false encouragement on my part. You see, ‘tis a rather delicate subject to broach with a complete stranger…"

  Her lashes blinked. She laved her lips. “But I too have certain…requirements in my lovers. His lordship is most accommodating. We have, shall we say, a mutually gratifying…er inclination.”

  The look, the raking hot stare, was almost animalistic. His smile turned feral. Her nose could smell the heat that dewed his skin. That sickening scent she recalled all too well when he’d fondled her out of her mother’s presence.

  Stratton’s voice vibrated, “I place no limits on pleasure. No taboos hinder me. I have the advantage, I promise you, and the experience, to provide whatever pleases you, in any way. I think you will find that my passions run quite parallel to your own.”

  “But I have not confided them yet.” She raked her teeth over her lip and pretended to look around before leaning toward him and uttering, “Perhaps we can arrange a meeting….a sampling of your generosity and—open mindedness. This weekend perchance. He will not miss me for a few hours on Saturday.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Sounding breathless, Stratton’s eyes pulled from her lips to meet her own. “Saturday.”

  “I shall take a hack—to where?”

  He gave her an address she knew perfectly.

  Pretending coyness she gasped, “Surely a man of your standing has a wife?”

  “For appearances only, my dear.” He chuckled. “She is …er... holidaying. But were she not, never mistake that I rule my own castle.”

  Stepping back from him, she made her posture and eyes seem animated, vibrating with eagerness. “I don’t doubt it, Sir. However, can you submit to another’s? It takes a man of great confidence, to be able to experience the darker side of himself—and to feel the sweet, arousing, agony of pleasure.” Her laugh rolled husky and deep.

  Gabriella licked her lips again. “I do so love a strong man who desires my sweet rewards enough to play by my rules.” She smiled mysteriously. “Adieu, Marcus, until the week’s end.”

  His gaze tore from her mouth. His eyes glazed before he bowed, exiting moments before Raith entered.

  The lights were going down.

  She sank into her chair, feeling Raith’s black gaze regarding her. The seconds she had to gather herself were not nearly enough. However, when the lights came up Gabriella whispered, “He wishes me to come to him Saturday.” She relayed the conversation.

  “Good. Good.”

  Gabriella played her role better than the actors on stage. Between peeking at Marcus across the way, making gestures he would read as flirtations, and teasing with a drag of her fan across her bodice, the shifting of her seat as if stirred—and also doing her part to give Raith her lover’s attention. She was brittle when they finally left, and trembling in the coach. Her eyes closed to stave off thinking of the next act, until she was in private.

  “Am I to be concerned at this late date, this breath away from succeeding, that you cannot bear your role without these…reactions?”

  “Not now, Raith.”

  His teeth were grit and voice icy, “If not now, then when? We perform as much for the servants as for Stratton and the world. There is no more rehearsal, no down time left, Gabriella.”

  Her lashes lifted, meeting his dark stare. “I have thus far met every expectation we hoped for. You forget, Lord Montovon that it is not only my mother he sent to hell, but myself. I have not forgotten a moment of my suffering nor her degradation.”

  “Then learn to use it,” he snarled. “As I had thought you would have these many years.”

  “Be dammed with your scold!” She sat up and gripped the fan whilst glaring at him in the passing lamplight. “It is I who still lives, who has the very real nightmares and carries those sights, sounds, the experiences in me daily. I—who must play lover to the devil himself!”

  The coach stopped. He got out and handed her down, but she pulled from him in the foyer.

  Raith caught her arm on the upper landing and forced her to face him. “If you cannot heed my instruction and advice, we must end this here. I will kill the bastard either way.”

  His grip smarted, but she held his gaze unflinching. “I know what to do. I know what part to play and what we have planned. And I bloody know what you think of my reaction—my private reaction—to Stratton. Just because you haunt her steps and shut yourself away with her ghosts, does not mean you have any idea what it is like to be at his mercy!”

  She jerked her arm free, trembling now, because she had never, never in their years together, spoken, nor challenged him this way. Though she knew it was Stratton she wanted to lash out at, she continued, “I will not fail. I will use my instincts, my hate, bitterness, and loathing, to achieve his destruction. Nevertheless, I am not six and ten anymore. I have lived with the very real nightmares for almost five years. I will not explain to you, nor make apologies if my flesh crawls and my stomach rolls at the sight of him. I hold myself together when it counts, but I will not give him my soul as you have—“

  She shook her head, her expression one of utter contempt, “I want to go at him with claws and release this blackness inside until he bleeds. But I cannot. I cannot do that and extract the revenge he deserves to feel. So do not chasten and scorn me, Raith. You have no clue what I think! We are a means to a mutual end for each other. I am your gateway to avenge your wife, a tool. Very well, you were mine. Either you trust me, or you do not. Perhaps it is you, who cannot endure the role.”

  Gabriella turned swiftly and headed for her chambers. Once passed the door, she closed it and fell back against it, with eyes closed and Raith’s black stare swimming behind her lashes, his rigid face mirroring the cold anger she no doubt stirred up in him.

  She was shaking all over. Opening her eyes, she held out her hands, seeing the tremor in her fingers. The violence that rose in her was frightening. Had she been pushed an ounce further she would have struck Raith. God knew, she sensed the coiled need in him to lash out with more than his voice.

  Christ. They could not do this. They could not attack and destroy each other. For years she had held it in, never telling her tale, never speaking of what she suffered to him, just as he had not. They had gone through days and hours planning for this. Now was the time, the day they worked and waited for, and suddenly, the emotions were trying to burst out of her skin.

  Dear, God. She let her hands drop and rolled her head against the wood surface. She must prepare to be with Stratton on her own in a drastically more vulnerable setting. She was angry with herself for letting the feelings both men stirred in her converge.

  After a bit, the images of what might happen with Stratton that revolted her were replaced by the “lessons and training, Raith had put her through ov
er the years. The reading of plays and erotic materials was nothing. She had witnessed much baser things on the streets. Nevertheless—he taught her seduction. Detached himself, during the (lessons), yet that rasping voice talking, analyzing, and instructing—her walk, her expressions, and the way she should speak. He’d touched her, turned her head this way or that, brought his face close, and stared with those black intense eyes with his faux lover’s thrall.

  She remembered the night they had gone to a decadent but richly furnished brothel. They became the voyeurs to every sort of fetish and act. He would speak in her ear, and she would wonder…wonder, if he was stirred. There did come a point when she discerned he was as susceptible as she, to arousal. One could not help it. Nevertheless, those signs were more visible when he taught her to fake pleasure, to simulate the act of masturbation and climax she would perform for Stratton. His voice would change, giving her a sense he was perhaps visualizing someone, remembering someone else. Moreover, that sensual acting was night and day from enlightening her to more depraved appetites.

  Gabriella assumed she had filed that all away, as she had the other tutoring. She could be as removed as he, save for the worse done to her mother, she sometimes had nightmares of those first months. She had been prey herself. She knew that feeling of being powerless. Understanding now gave her the power, the control, not being ignorant and feeling able to comprehend the mind and lust of someone like Stratton—empowered her. She deduced that was what Raith was aiming for. Otherwise, she could not manipulate and control Marcus.

  It was always understood what would get her close to Stratton, what he would desire her for—what his only use of a woman was. He was susceptible to his impulsive lusts. Once he saw a woman he wanted, he found the means to have her. Since his (tastes) and treatment eventually made his mask slip and turned any desire they had for him to disgust and terror, he punished them for it. He destroyed them. Moreover, if he took them against their will, as she suspected he had Suzette, he relived some previous experience with a woman through them—namely, he used Suzette to punish and to take out his rage, toward Natasha.