Passion's Song

by Carolyn Jewel

  “I don’t annoy you on purpose, Lord Hartforde,” she said in a small voice. She was remembering, however unwillingly, the way he had touched her, the play of his muscles under his skin, how his lips on hers had made her giddy.

  “I know you don’t.” He drew in a deep breath as she picked up the garment, watching her struggle to find the top of it. She had grabbed it by the hem, and if he hadn’t been so exasperated he would have thought her expression comical. “If you don’t cover yourself, Miss St. James, I won’t answer to the consequences,” he warned.

  Her face went scarlet with shame when at last she had to shake the dressing gown to find one of the sleeves. She rose a little unsteadily as she thrust her good arm through it. She was gingerly doing the same with her other arm when he reached out and yanked it closed. He expelled a sharp sigh, suddenly aware he had been holding his breath. She swayed and he was still grasping the material in his hands when she put her hands to his chest to balance herself.

  “You would find me more than you bargained for, Isobel,” he growled when she did not move away from him but continued to stare up at him.

  “Would I?” she whispered. She wondered again if she was drunk, she felt so wonderfully light-headed! But she didn’t care if she was, because at that moment all she wanted was for him to kiss her. When she leaned against him she felt his heartbeat quicken, the proof of his desire. His eyes seemed to darken at her words and she felt a thrill go through her as she saw the answer to her question. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lowered his head to hers, and when she lifted her face to his, he groaned. Her befuddled mind knew only that he was responding to the pressure of her hands on the back of his neck by leaning forward and kissing her urgently, his lips firm and demanding against hers. She felt a giddiness overtake her and she relaxed against him. Surely this was as close to heaven as it was possible to get without actually going to the trouble of dying. Her head swam as he picked her up and carried her the few steps to the bed. Nothing could be more like heaven than to have this man kissing her. She wanted it to go on forever.

  “I would give anything, Isobel, if I could just stop thinking about you,” he said fiercely as he pulled off her shoes and hose. His fingers trembled as he pulled open the dressing gown to unbutton her breeches and pull them off her.

  She meant to protest at what he was doing, but suddenly his warm hands were stroking her bare legs, moving up to capture her aching breasts, and when he gently pulled the heavy silk robe off her, careful not to hurt her arm, she shivered as cool air whispered over her nakedness. He was crooning her name in her ear and then his tongue ran wetly down her throat to linger at the top of her chest. His hands moved over her, his fingers pressed into her, his clothes scraped her skin and sent little shivers up to center in her belly. She let out a ragged breath when she felt his fingers on her breasts, brushing lightly over her nipples until she could think of nothing but his touch. She moaned when his hands moved away from her breasts, only to gasp at the sensation of his lips replacing his hands. She opened her eyes and focused her attention on Alexander’s golden hair. The thought that this was wrong began to penetrate her fogged mind, but somehow, it was hard to believe it when she felt as though she might melt right into the bed from the pleasure of his touch. She had once believed she could never be tempted to fall, and now she was finding out how enormously, wonderfully wrong she had been. Her head was spinning and all she could think of was how thoroughly he overwhelmed her. He trailed kisses up to her throat, and when he finally covered her lips with his, she felt all the tension go out of her as she gave herself up to the pleasure his hands were creating in her. Nothing mattered except that she was in his arms….

  Alexander was surprised at how tense she was, and he was equally surprised when he suddenly felt her relax. He deepened his kiss as she moaned and arched herself against him. He gently ran his tongue over her teeth and then into her mouth, and his kiss became one of triumphant possession. She was his and he meant to take her as she had never been taken before. His hands stroked her gently rounding breasts, and when he felt her becoming taut under his fingers, he bent his head to a nipple. He felt a visceral spark fanned into flame by her groaning response to his touch. He reached up to pull off her ridiculous man’s wig, loosening her hair until he could twine his fingers in the golden curls that spilled over the bedcover. “I’ve wanted this for so long…. You know that,” he whispered into her ear, tracing its delicate outline with his tongue before taking her mouth again. His hands stroked down her sides before moving over to the triangle between her legs, covering her for a moment before he sat up and, eyes locked with hers, began to unfasten his clothes so he could feel her against him without the nuisance of any covering. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth when he saw that her eyes never left him while he undressed, though they briefly dropped downward when his breeches and underclothes dropped to the floor. He slid next to her on the bed and pulled her on top of him, throwing one lean leg over hers and groaning at the feel of her warm skin on his. She seemed to weigh practically nothing, yet when her breasts pressed against his chest the weight of her was nearly unbearable. He could taste the brandy on her mouth as she kissed him, her hair falling like a golden veil around their heads. His hands pulled her waist tightly against him and he arched his hips so she would feel the hardened length of him pressing into her. He continued kissing her, marveling, while his hands searched her curves, that any woman could be as perfectly shaped as she was. She moved her hips against him in answer to the pressure of his hands on her. Still holding her, he rolled over to press her into the soft mattress. She seemed not to know what to do with her hands, and because he was mad to have her touch him as he did her, he placed them on his back. “Touch me, Isobel,” he ordered softly. Her fingers lightly stroked his shoulders, then, so slowly it was almost a torture, traced the muscles of his back down to his waist. “You are perfect,” he groaned, lowering his lips to a breast. He heard her gasp as he lightly bit one nipple, then the other. “A moment, love,” he said softly after she tried to pull him back when he got up to douse all the candles but the one on the bedstand. Her skin gleamed palely in the darkened room. He ran a finger down her long legs, watching the shiver that followed his touch. “I’ve dreamed of you often, Isobel,” he said in a low voice, “but the reality far exceeds my imagination.” He bent to kiss her again, and when she pulled him down to her and curved against him he found the passion he was arousing in her was more powerfully erotic than the passion she wrought in him, and soon he could not tell the difference.

  Tentatively she ran her hands over Alexander’s sweat-slickened body. Hard muscles tensed and relaxed under smooth skin as he touched her in ways that made her quiver. She hadn’t known he wanted her to touch him until he placed her hands on his back, and now she could no longer think; she was caught up in wave after wave of spiraling pleasure. His fingers were probing her and she cried out his name as she felt as though she were suddenly, deliriously, falling from an immense height. His breath was warm on her face and she was relaxed completely when she felt him move over her, his thighs between hers, hard against her own smooth skin. His lips brushed hers and then he was kissing her, his chest pressing her back into the bed. She felt him probing between her parted thighs, and, because she was aching with unfulfilled need, she was willing, anxious, to do whatever he demanded of her. She felt she would do anything and let him do anything. At this moment, she would have trusted him with her life. She could think of nothing but him and how often she had dreamed of him whispering her name and kissing her until she was senseless. Her entire being was concentrated on this moment, on his hands and lips touching her, the feel of his body on, over, and next to hers, the texture of his hair, the taste of him, the sound of his whispered endearments. She felt his hardness thrusting inside her and she was suddenly and painfully surprised at the sensation. He continued to push and she squeezed her eyes shut against a searing pain. She tensed, biting her lower lip when his hips jerked forwar
d again. At last she could bear it no more and she tried to make him stop, but he had such a firm grip on her waist as he pushed once more that she could not twist away from him. She cried out in pain and then he was filling her body so intimately that when he cursed at her she could not keep back the tears crowding behind her tightly shut eyes.

  The feel of her silken body against his was too much; he could wait no longer. He shifted until he was on top of the smooth, sleek figure moving under him so that he half-thought he might erupt just from the pleasure of it. She was so completely relaxed when he parted her thighs and began to slide himself into her that he was surprised at how awkward she was at helping him to accomplish it. When he met resistance his desire was so overpowering that he did not realize he was the first with her until he had thrust once more. And then it was too late. He was inside her before her cry of pain could stop him. “Bloody hell!” he heard himself say. He was dimly aware he had ruined her, but right now, when he was so close to fulfillment with a woman he had wanted for such an achingly long time, it never occurred to him to stop. “Hush, love,” he whispered, tasting salty tears when he kissed her cheek. “I promise you, I won’t hurt you anymore.” He cursed again, but this time it was from the quivering pleasure of moving inside her. She was hot and slick and so damnably and enticingly tight around him that he felt his world quickly narrowing to just that one area of joining. The thought that she was a virgin and that he ought to be gentle completely left him as an overpowering passion began to take over his body, and he wanted nothing except what their joined flesh promised him. His kiss was one of possession until he felt the beginning of a shuddering climax. Involuntarily, he hoarsely repeated her name. There was nothing but him and her and his aching, pulsing inches of flesh demanding to be satisfied. When the torment consuming him finally ended in a shattering release of his entire being into her, his fingers dug into her shoulders until at last he could lie, breathless but quiet, on her bewitching body.

  Isobel lay tense and sobbing when Alexander cursed at her. The heady exhilaration was gone. He had hurt her and she was not inclined to believe him when he told her it would not hurt anymore. She felt his lips brush her cheeks and then he was cursing again and moving inside her. He kissed her, taking her lips with a tenderness that almost made her forget the pain. His head was bent over hers, and when she heard the passion in his voice as he called out her name, she opened her eyes. A thrill went through her when she saw the intensity of his expression. His lips were parted in a panting curve and she saw him catch his lower lip between his teeth and then heard him groan. “Oh, my love,” he said with a hoarse sigh. She looked between them and saw his ridged abdomen rising and falling against her belly. The pain was forgotten, fading into the back of her mind as he took her head between his hands and kissed her again. His lips found her shoulder and she felt his teeth on her, gentle. He threw back his head and then his eyes opened and he looked at her while he moved in her. His hands gripped her shoulders and she could not look away from the vulnerable passion she saw in him. Then his fingers were tightening on her and she felt his body shuddering and she held him close while he cried out her name.

  “Ah, Isobel,” he murmured as he moved off her and lay beside her. After a moment he turned her tear- streaked face to him. “Wait,” he said, getting up from the bed. He made his way to the water basin. Taking a towel lying next to it, he wet it and cleaned himself off. He wet it again and went back to the bed and gently wiped away the blood staining her thighs. “I never thought—I did not expect to be the first,” he said, at a momentary loss for words when he began to appreciate the consequences his rashness might have for the both of them. “I could not stop.” He shook his head. “I should have once I knew you were…”—a pause— “…but, my God! I was mad for you!” As he looked into her darkened eyes, he thought to himself it would be sheer folly to continue with her. He took her hand. “You should have told me. I would never—” He stopped because he found he could not say what he knew to be an untruth. “What have we done?” He shook his head when she sat up. He leaned forward, intending only to kiss her cheek, but instead he groaned as his arms went around her and he buried his face in her hair. “Isobel, no,” he said roughly when he felt her hands on his thighs. He pushed her away and lay back on the bed, willing his body not to respond to her touch. Surely, he told himself he had imagined the sensations she had aroused in him. She was nothing more than an infuriating young girl whose naïveté and willfulness had momentarily made him forget thirty-one years of good breeding. He tensed when he felt her hand on his belly, but her lightly brushing fingers sent shivers through him. She bent to kiss him, and even though he knew he should push her away, the flesh of her waist curved so deliriously to slim flanks that he opened his mouth under the gentle pressure of her lips to let her slip her tongue inside, to let her kiss him passionately, touching all the surfaces of his mouth. He felt himself responding to her caresses and he almost pulled her back when she put her hands on his chest and pushed away from him.

  “It excites me to touch you this way,” she said as her hands moved caressingly over him. “I want to touch you….” She kissed his nipples, running her hands over his arms. The effect was electrifying. He closed his eyes as she softly kissed his face, then traded light fingers down the ridges of his smooth, muscled chest. “I want to know all of you.” She kissed his stomach and moved down to his legs. She kissed the insides of his thighs and he no longer wanted to stop her. Her lips were searching for and finding every sensitive area of his body. He could no more have stopped her than he could have stopped breathing. She began to kiss his belly, sliding down to kiss his hardening member, and when her mouth slid over him, he groaned. She looked up, her face darkened by shadows.

  “Don’t stop!” he gasped, and pushed her head back down. She pressed her lips to him and as she ran her tongue down the length of him he reached down and tangled his fingers in her hair. He felt her take him in her mouth and he groaned again, pressing her head down. Her tongue was wet and hot on him, sliding around him, and her hands on him brought him to a shivering climax. He cradled her in his arms, slowly stroking the smooth curves of her. He forgot the short moment ago when he had promised himself he would not touch her again. Now, though, he was not so desperate for her that he could not take the time to make her desperate for him. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, and slowly moved down to the junction between her legs and began to kiss her there, using his tongue as she had used hers on him moments ago. She cried out when his hands stroked her, and as soon as he felt her release, he pulled himself up and trailed kisses back up to her parted lips. “You are mine,” he whispered as he slowly entered her, eyes fixed on the face that had been haunting his dreams. She wrapped her arms around him and her breath began to come in pants and it was hot on his cheek and he was caught up in the moment, lost in the whirling storm of passion she was creating in him. This time, their bodies sought each other, fitting together with a perfect sweetness that took his breath away. He propped himself up on his elbows, just above her shoulders, his hips moving, thrusting, and he was filling her, sliding, pushing into her deeper and deeper. She was throbbing around him and he found himself swept up in a burst of ecstasy that ended only in an abandonment so intense he barely heard their cries of passion as he felt his seed empty into the body moving so exquisitely beneath his.

  Isobel clung to his slick shoulders, feeling his muscles bunching and relaxing, and then she could think no more, could only cry out when she felt herself swirling, fluttering, searching for something only his body could give her. With her arms tightened around him, she heard him urging her on, dimly, telling her to give herself to him. And she did, in waves of crashing pleasure, until they were both breathless and consumed by it.

  Later, he heard her whisper his name. Her voice was shy and he pulled her close because he wanted to have her next to him.

  “Yes, love?” he said into her hair, breathing in its sweet fragrance.

&
nbsp; “Are you sorry…about this?”

  “My own, it should never have happened,” he said. But he was not sorry. No doubt it would have been better if they hadn’t, but he half thought their joining was inevitable. Now that it had finally happened, it would be possible to get her out of his thoughts and dreams and return to his formerly peaceful life. He kissed her shoulder and pulled the covers over their sated bodies.

  “I’m not sorry,” she murmured.

  Chapter 19

  I

  For several long sleepy moments when Alexander awoke the next morning he believed he was in his rooms at Arlington Street and that the woman next to him was Angelica Vincent. Pulling her against him, he savored his impression of a night well spent. He buried his face in her hair and kissed the back of her neck while his hands began a slow exploration of her body. Through the grogginess of what had been a deep sleep penetrated only the observation that Angelica seemed to have lost weight. His lips moved down to the top of her shoulder and his tongue made a lazy circle on her warm skin. He heard her moan softly and felt a rounded derriere press against him. He opened his eyes just enough to see by the dock across the room that it was going on five o’clock. The room was bathed in a dim light, creating a soft golden aura around the pale hair spread out over the pillow. It took only a minute or two for his sleep-heavy mind to register that he was not at Arlington Street and that the woman in his arms was not Angelica Vincent. His recollection of exactly how he had spent the night and with whom he had spent it was suddenly painfully dear. It was, of course, impossible to comfort himself with the thought that she had known exactly what she was doing. He frowned when he remembered some of the things he had said to her. He vaguely remembered meaning every word at the time. He shook her shoulder.