Passion

by Gayle Eden

  He instead led her to the left, back to a garden room with French doors that were open to the rain. A fire burned although it was not cold at all.

  Raith lit a cheroot and there was coffee there, obviously ordered by him.

  She poured one and sat on the arm of a chair, half watching him, half watching the rain.

  “He made me a rich man.”

  “That’s not surprising.”

  He glanced at her. “And children…heirs.”

  She nodded and sipped.

  His dark eyes watched that motion, then met and held her own. “I ached for you, every day.”

  Scuttling a breath, she managed, “I thought…”

  “Yes. Me too. You are beautiful. You will turn heads when your hair is as silver as mine. I didn’t write, didn’t say, wait for me, but I hoped.”

  Gabriella set the cup down, standing as he tossed the cheroot.

  Raith turned and looked over her, head to toe, before he husked, “I love you more now, than I did before.”

  He admitted, “The morning after I arrived, I saw you standing out back in the garden—the first time in a year and I felt my legs shaking…”

  “Raith...”

  He walked to her and took her hands.

  She tilted up her chin, looking into his eyes.

  “Say something.”

  She wet her lips. “I love you. I waited for you. I would have, for as long as it took.”

  He bent his head and kissed her, a soft one at first, renewal, re-tasting, and conformation. The next was deeper and more passionate.

  Holding her back from him, he husked, “I asked your father, a year ago. I told him I loved you, and I promised him I would make you happy. He said he would not consent unless you loved me. Unless being with me, would make you happy.”

  “It would. He will.” She laughed breathlessly and then touched his face. “When?”

  “As soon as is decent.”

  “Of course.”

  “Unless... you want a quiet one, here? I have a license.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I’ve had it...a long time.”

  She gazed at him. “I can’t believe you’ll be my husband. I’ve loved you….”

  He murmured, “We’ll marry here then. At week’s end. I’ll have Jules and Blaise help arrange it.”

  Gabriella nodded.

  “I’ll speak to your father this evening.”

  “All right.”

  Raith reached in his coat pocket and took out a ring. Reaching for her hand, he put it on the finger next to the one she wore of her mother’s.

  “It’s lovely.”

  “It was my mothers. Passed down, she said.” His thumb brushed over the pearls. “We’ll go to Cornwall afterwards…”

  “Yes. Wherever you like.”

  He gathered her and they kissed, passionate, and long, locked together, and caught up in the soft waft of breath, smooth and supple lips. The sensations they made each other feel. They scarcely noticed the pouring rain outside.

  Too stirred to join the others, they eventually sat on the sofa. He slumped comfortably, holding her hand and sipping coffee, Gabriella with her head on his shoulder, stocking feet tucked under the hem of her gown.

  With his head back, he murmured, “I dreamed of you.”

  “Me too.” She lifted her head and glanced at him. “I had several.”

  His lips curved and his half-mast eyes scanned her face. “In my dreams, you wore this shawl of bright colors, silver and gold thread, and you danced…”

  “I shall. I remember how…”

  He lifted his hand, brushing her cheek with the back of it. “And I made love to you, slow, exquisite, and so real I would ache for days.”

  Mesmerized she whispered, “I dreamed that too.”

  Raith cupped her cheek, half-sitting as she met him for an arousing kiss.

  The door clicked and opened.

  Gabriella parted from him to look at her father who stood there.

  He smiled and glanced at Raith who came to his feet but kept his profile to him, buttoning the hip length jacket he wore.

  Bordwyc supplied dryly, “This answers any questions I had.”

  Taking her hand Raith returned, “We’d like to wed by week’s end.”

  “Yes, you’d better.” The Duke laughed and stepped back to leave. “I’ll see to things and arrange for my man of business to have all in order…”

  “What things…”

  The Duke looked at his daughter surprised. “Your marriage settlement. Rather large it is, aside from an income for the rest of your life. And there are a few other details.”

  “I don’t need it,” Raith cut in.

  “No. well, your children may, and you can keep it in Gabriella’s name. Doesn’t matter.”

  When he had gone Gabriella said, “I had no idea.”

  Raith smiled a bit. “I’m not really surprised.” He kissed her once more and they gathered themselves to leave, he, spending the evening with his brothers, and Ry, who was Godfather to the heirs.

  For Raith, the end of the week could not come soon enough, although it was still busy at the house. They followed Artis’s wishes and had most of the dark furnishings sent to charity as well as most traces of the Duchess. Artis had made Jules promise to refurbish it completely. Jules promised he would.

  Raith took some ribbing from his brothers, but handled it rather well. He managed a smile for Lady Harry, and Caroline, when they passed by him or were at dinner, knowing they were helping Gabriella with the wedding. He gathered Caroline and Gabriella had their own special bond.

  It was a quiet wedding, save for the fretting babies. Straightforward, no frills with fall hues coloring the windows and solemn vows spoken by the hearth fire.

  Raith felt his legs nearly buckle at first sight of his bride—walking into the front parlor in her long satin and lace gown. Her raven and burgundy hair flowed down her back and other than pearl earrings, she wore only small buds among the flowing locks.

  The ring he gave her was a band matching the pearl one. Nothing registered save the surreal feeling that she was his; his wife, lover, and a woman he knew would always understand and know him. If she could love him after their past, he was certain she truly loved him, and the way he loved her, and said so toasting with champagne, left him breathless with good fortune.

  The babies demanded his brother and their wives attention after the wedding supper. He let Gabriella say her adieu to her father in private. The man was leaving the next day.

  Finally, though still daylight, they were in apartments secretly prepared for them, on the behest of Harry and Caroline. A suite with a white marbled fireplace crackling with fire, and green and white upholstery in the sitting room, the bedchambers, visible from the slid back pocket doors, were done in warm fall hues and the scents of that season wafted in the air.

  Having removed his jacket and cravat Raith was in shirtsleeves and trousers when Gabriella emerged from the bathing chambers.

  She wore a calf length robe in white silk, open to show a lace nightgown, sheer and delicate. Her hair looked rich against it and against her dusky skin.

  Walking to the doorway, light from the fall day and the fire glinted on her figure. She turned just at the bedroom and let the robe slide from her fingers.

  He set his brandy down rather blindly, walking toward her, his eyes devouring the way the lace clung to her full breasts, the dusky nipples peeking through, breathless at how it enhanced her full hips.

  Raith paused, undoing buttons on his shirt, but she took over and had it off him much faster. He followed until she sat on the side of the bed, and he in a chair removing his boots. Standing again, whilst his bride got to her knees on the bed, easing the straps off her shoulders, so that the gown fell, clinging only at her hips. Her breasts and torso gleamed with some sort of light fragrant oil. She pushed her hair back behind her shoulders causing glints of light to enhance her already smooth skin.

  H
e undid his trousers, stripping completely, watching her eyes devour him, observing her pleasure as her gaze moved over him. Gabriella moved to the edge of the bed, legs under her, knees wide and that lace caught low on her hips, high enough so that he saw a hint of her black curls.

  Her hands skimmed until she held his own hips at the side, her eyes looking up as he gazed down.

  “Give me sweet another day,” she begged in a husky whisper, “I need you. I want you.”

  His control snapped even before she dipped her head and rimmed his sex with her mouth. Hands in her hair, he never formed that protest although he grasped her hair, intending too. She knew, they both did, from their visiting all those houses of pleasure. She had paid close attention. She took him apart and Raith hardly knew himself, so consumed by a haze of lust, yet humble love too, at her giving. Quickly the fire sizzled through him. He climaxed so intense his head swam.

  After some recovering, Raith praised her lack of inhibitions. The light outside, firelight and lamps shone as he aggressively laved her to climax. Then he was behind her, driving deep into her, holding those lush hips, watching her shapely backside as she pushed back against him.

  Hot, hard, lost, he let her take from him. He gave to her amazed at the strength of her need, thrilled, at her passion, her meeting his own all the way. They talked grit out their pleasure, their need, burning and begging, praising and whispering, hot in their passion, driving each other higher, deeper, so connected on the most elemental level.

  Eventually, he was against the headboard, the sheet between his legs when she came from the bathing area. Pulling on his cheroot, Raith eyed the flushed face, her plump lips, and the sensual tilt to her eyes. That robe parted and slid off before she sat slightly facing him, her gaze meeting his as they acknowledged what had passed between them thus far.

  He inwardly smiled at her expression—love, a little sexual greed, and more sensuality than any man could want.

  Putting out the cheroot, he watched her hand glide up his flank, touching him, rubbing, and feeling him. Raith watched it next glide under the sheet, and raised his eyes.

  Gabriella wet her lips. Her palm glided over his thickening sex.

  “Do you mind?”

  “No,” he husked honestly, and tugged the covering away. His body had answered more eloquently.

  He covered her hand that fisted him. “Ask, tell me, what you want. I enjoy your passion…I feel the same.”

  She leaned up and kissed his stomach then laved his ribs and played her mouth over him, so that he remembered the feel of her full lips rimming him. His sex was hard as stone.

  After scraping her teeth on his hipbones, she glanced up at him before taking him in her mouth.

  This time Raith lifted her head, kissed her, and then pulled her to her feet. He heard her gasp, her moan of pleasure, and saw a flash of her dark eyes as he held her arms above her head and took her against the wall, with much hard breathing and terse sexual whispers. Her lush body was made for his. His hard sinew could be both dominating and tempered. However, she was aggressive too, and they were perfectly matched in passions.

  Their wedding night passed in that manner, taking the edge off long held hungers, each giving, taking, each expressing their emotions. They had many years and so much held back between them, that it was at times intense, others deep and soul touching, but each time forged them closer than the time before.

  They slept late and left the rooms after taking their food on a tray. It was while they stood in the back gardens, watching his brothers push the prams and walk with their wives on the garden walkway, that they turned and eyed each other in the autumn sun.

  Gabriella saw her reflection in the softness of his dark eyes, saw his passion, his sensuality, and his strength. She felt him in her body, bones now, and too in her heart and soul.

  “I love you,” he murmured, clear, true, profoundly. “I cared for her, felt for her, because of her innocence and goodness, her sweetness, which I took for granted. I was not honest with her. I was selfish—needing her for my own reasons. Which is why, I felt such guilt. I loved her—and will, for what she was and what she may have been had I not come into her life.”

  Gabriella husked. “I understand that.”

  “What I’ve felt for you, once fought against, has been intense, strong, and sometimes very dark. Nevertheless, always real. I struggled, because I thought it would erase her and take away such a life changing experience. I resisted too… because it was so intense, so different, and it was there, present, real.”

  She nodded.

  He released a breath and finished. “You are so much like me, like a part I recognize. Your passions I succumb to, because I feel the same way. I feel like I know them, understand them, the dark and light and hungers.” He touched her cheek. “Tonight is sweetness, slow passion—because we need that too.”

  Gabriella turned and kissed his palm and let him take her hand. As they walked a bit she whispered, “I’ll weep likely, I know I will.”

  He laughed gruffly and flexed their fingers. “I may also.”

  Gabriella smiled. They would, likely.

  * * * *

  Jules was enjoying a cheroot as Harry left him to take his son to the nursemaid for a nap. He had to smile watching her with that brisk walk, her short hair gleaming under the sun. He would not have gotten through his father’s sickness and last days without Harry. She was his partner, his lover, his best friend, and the mother of his heir.

  Never in his life would he have imagined Harry as his wife. Though she laughed when his father started calling her Duchess, long before the title was his, he knew she and Artis had their own friendship and bond—sharing many laughs and many evenings arguing politics and what not.

  She stopped to speak to Raith and Gabriella. He eyed the lines of that plain black skirt, her silk blouse. Underneath, Harry always wore something provocative to surprise him. She was always finding ways to drive him a bit crazy for her.

  He did not tell her often enough, but he would take her in rags, or in nothing at all. He loved her trousers, loved when he went looking for her and he would find her in some old robe, reading books, piled among notes and papers.

  He loved it—when responsibility got the best of him and out of the blue Harry would do something unexpected. She was still not mad for society, and the ton was still reeling in shock that he’d wed her—still not warming to her free thinking opinions and lack of toad eating. Now she was richer, more titled, more cynical. As he was. They made their appearances, but never forwent something they enjoyed instead, to do so.

  Jules strolled aimless awhile, and was just on the other side of a going doormat vine twined in an arbor, when he heard Caroline and Blaise.

  They were apparently arguing. The nanny had already fetched their heir for his nape too.

  He had observed the changes in Caroline. Good ones, as she became more relaxed and confident, and as she became a mother. Blaise still did everything a sighted man would, and Caroline never treated him differently. She did not do for him, and most of the time, people did not realize he was blind.

  In the past year, Caroline and Harry had kept them both amused with their bickering, and friendship. Something women did apparently, because they laughed as often as they disagreed, and the men did not always know what was so hilarious, but they enjoyed their wives high spirits.

  In any event, he heard the sharpness as Caroline cried, “You lied to me! You bloody well lied.”

  “I did not, lie.”

  “Yes. It is the same thing. I cannot believe this. I thought you loved me.”

  “Of course I do. What’s one got to do with the other?” His brother growled. “I love you, I didn’t lie. Now, can we go in and find a bed, a corner, anywhere to have sex, before our son wakes up?”

  “No. And why do you say it that way? I did not put him in bed with us, you did. Now he is used to it. And it hasn’t been that long…”

  “Four bloody weeks. And, don’t you
pretend it is just me. I know you…”

  “—I didn’t. I am not. But even if that’s true…”

  “—It is true, you want me.

  “Even if—and yes, I do. But not now. Now I am…well, I am hurt and most disappointed. I am shocked that you think so less of me.”

  He could almost hear Blaise’s teeth grind. He saw Caroline whirl to leave, and saw Blaise catch her hand and turn her. Then his brother cupped her face, glaring down and husking, “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid it was a fluke. Afraid I’d wake up blind again.”

  “Oh, Blaise. Oh, my love.”

  However, Blaise dropped his hands and turned, walking a few steps away.

  Caroline went to him, her hands on the back of his white shirt, smoothing. “I want you. Now. I want to see you look at me, in the daylight.”

  He turned. “Caroline, we—“

  She kissed him, her hands going from his wavy mane to his buttocks, all over him. “Please now. Here. I want you now.”

  Blaise groaned and cursed. Obviously taking her kisses and trying to gain some control. “I can see you inside. Well, I cannot see clear in both eyes but…”

  She plucked off his glasses.

  “I still need those.”

  “I know, love. They will be fine, right here, hanging on this vine.” She was plastered to him, her hands tugging his hair. “I want you. Take me, now! Here.”

  Jules suppressed a grin and turned from looking, walking away as his brother groaned and uttered, “I can do this better inside, Caroline.”

  The lady husked, “You are good at it every time, my love. However, I promise you, I will have Clara put your son in his cradle tonight and you can have your way with me. Right now, I do not think I can wait another second!”

  Jules did not get away before he heard a groan and Blaise uttering, “I think you provoked that argument on purpose. You’re hot and wet.”

  What Caroline said, he did not know, because he sped his steps to give them privacy.

  That evening they did not show up for dinner. He saw Ry in the nursery, rocking his Godchild as he often did Jules’s own heir. They shared a wink before Jules went to seek out his own wife and some bed sport.