Further Than Passion (20 page)

"Yes, yes, yes!" She kissed him, chuckling at how enthusiastically he joined in. "It was fabulous."

"Good, because I plan to bestow many more entertainments just like it."

Her heart fluttered with excitement, but she didn't dare ask what he meant. Was he speaking in the short term, or of something more permanent? If Lord Stamford didn't come up to snuff with his sister, Christopher would soon have to escort his mother to Doncaster. What then? Selena couldn't bear to consider the answer.

"How did you escape?" She changed the subject
,
too apprehensive to dawdle in worrisome territory.

"I lied to my mother and claimed I was ill. So she'll ride home with Lady Pamela, which is a trip I'm happy to miss.
"

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In the few assignations he'd managed, he'd regaled her with tales of domineering Regina, spoiled Melanie, and the insidious Pamela. He was surrounded by crazed females, with Kate being the only one who was sane, but she'd been banished from socializin
g
—
a
n edict with which she was apparently pleased, so Chris hadn't overruled his mothe
r
—
a
nd he rarely saw her.

"I wish Kate could have been here. She would have had so much fun." Before meeting Kate, she'd pictured Kate's life at Doncaster to be merry and gay, but in many respects, her situation was more bleak than Selena's own.

"I'll bring her to visit you tomorrow."

"Oh, you are the sweetest man!"

"Just with you."

He was too modest. He was kind to everyone. Her servants were infatuated with him. "Have you told her about us?"

"We'll surprise her."

"Will she be glad?"

"Very glad."

Selena wasn't as confident of Kate's opinion as Christopher was. When he'd initially stumbled into her parlor, Kate had been embarrassed, hadn't wanted him to deduce that they were sisters. How would she view their secret liaison?

As if drinking Selena in with his eyes, he was scrutinizing her. He seemed constantly on the verge of an important confession, and she was desperate to learn what it was.

How she hated being a woman! She was awful at playing the shy, flirtatious coquette. She'd inherited

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too much of her mother's bold nature, and she chafed at having to be silent and wait for him to proceed. If she could figure out how to broach the topic of their future, she would!

His fingers in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, he kissed her soundly, and she reveled with elation. He was such a marvelous kisser, and he quickly swept away any need to talk. He knew exactly what to do, how and when to do it, and it occurred to her that he must have had a great deal of practice. Probably, he'd kissed many girls. After all, who could refuse him?

Well, she certainly hoped that his days of
practicing
were over! When he was in the mood to kiss, she intended to be the one to whom he turned.

The embrace became more heated, more passionate, as he laid her across his arm. She was tipped back, with him supporting her as if she weighed no more than a feather. He nuzzled across her cheek, down her neck and bosom. Her dress was cut very low in the front, and he nestled in her cleavage.

"You're so pretty, Selena," he murmured. "You'll always be mine, won't you?"

As a declaration, it was vague, and every time they were together, he tiptoed closer to the edge of a significant affirmation. Would he ever blurt out what he was trying to say?

"Yes, I will."

He slithered his hand under the bodice of her gown, and with no effort at all, her breast popped out from behind the fabric. He petted the soft mound, massaging it, investigating its shape and size; then he leaned over and stunned her by sucking at the nipple. The tiny

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nub hardened into a painful bud, so that every manipulation had her squirming until she could barely stay on his lap.

"Chris! What are you doing?" She hadn't really needed to inquire. Though she was aware of many amorous deeds, she didn't comprehend precisely how they were accomplished. Or that they could transpire in a carriage whilst careening down a dark lane!

"This is desire, Selena. I want to show you how it will be between us." He pulled away and gazed at her. "You'll let me, won't you?"

She couldn't tell him no, hot when he was staring at her as if she were the most extraordinary, most unique woman in the world. Still, she had no ring on her finger, and she was terrified that in his ultimate proposal he would suggest she be his mistress, which was a position she would flatly decline, so she wasn't about to travel too far down the road until she was clear as to his purpose.

"Swear to me that you'll stop if I ask."

"Of course I will." His warm regard billowed over her. "I would never dishonor you."

"I know you wouldn't."

He moved to her bosom again, laving and sucking one breast, while he toyed with the other. The sensation was powerful, and set her on fire, sinking in till her veins and pores seemed to vibrate. At her core, her womb jerked and twisted with each tug of his lips. She was wet, her body weeping for him, and she felt as if she might explode.

Down below, he was inching up her skirt
,
but she didn't care. She was in a frantic state, so agitated that she couldn't tolerate much more, and she was convinced

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he would alleviate her distress. There had to be an end point. A person couldn't possibly endure so much turmoil. It couldn't be safe, and she worried that if the spiral went on much longer, her heart might quit beating.

"What's happening to me?" she wailed.

"Relax, darling. It's nearly over." His hand slid higher, toward the vee between her thighs, where her agony was centered. "I'm going to touch you. I'll make you feel better."

He arrived at his destination, cupping her, her legs widening as if she instinctively recognized what he planned. With her dress rucked up and her knees spread, she had to appear a wanton, but she was unconcerned. Just so the torment ceased!

He slipped a finger inside her and began stroking back and forth. Her hips immediately caught his rhythm, so that she drew him deeper, achieving a modicum of relief, but it wasn't enough.

"I can't bear much more," she moaned.

"Almost finished."

He grasped where they were headed, and she was so glad. She was beyond thought, beyond control. His thumb jabbed at a sensitive area she'd never noticed before, and it was like a bolt of lightning shooting through her.

"Oh ... oh ..." She couldn't speak, couldn't advise him of what was ensuing, but he seemed to know.

"Now, Selena," he commanded. "Let go."

Blinded by ecstasy, she shattered into pieces and flew across the universe. Without meaning to, she cried ou
t
—
l
oudly!—
a
nd she was positive anyone outside the carriage would have noted her raucous exclamations.

Gradually, the feelings abated, and she grew limp as

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a rag doll, flopped as she was across his arm, and he chuckled, having relished her lusty display.

"My little wanton," he cooed, "what fun we'll have together."

"What was that?"

"Passion, Selena."

"Do you think the footmen heard me?"

"I'm sure they did,"

Squealing with mortification, she buried her face in his jacket. He soothed her, with words and caresses, until they rumbled to a halt at her apartment.

No servant rushed to the door, which boosted her certainty that they'd gleaned what antics were occurring. Were carriages a frequent spot for illicit activity? Was she the only one who hadn't known? She'd never look at a passing coach the same way again!

She tried to sit up, but her torso wouldn't obey, so Christopher had to make her presentable, straightening her hair, her gown, draping her shawl over her shoulders.

Circumstances had aged her more quickly than they might have another female, but she hadn't really matured until this instant, hadn't appreciated what being a woman entailed. She felt older, wiser, ready for another phase of her life to commence.

"Is this something married couples do?" she queried.

"On a regular basis."

Suddenly, matrimony held an entirely new appeal. "So it can happen more than once?"

"Yes." He laughed. "Over and over."

"When can we do it again?"

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"As soon as we find a moment to be alone."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, my strumpet. I promise."

The banter concluded, and they grinned, a world of understanding flitting between them. Their fondness for each other was genuine, precious, and couldn't be ignored or set aside. It seemed as if she'd always known him, as if Fate had specifically wended her to this place, and an exhilarating ripple of inevitability washed over her.

She leaned forward and hugged him.

"I love you," she whispered. Her pronouncement was brash and presumptuous, but she was so happy that she couldn't stop herself.

"I love you, too," he answered, but he didn't add more. He didn't pledge himself, or mention the future. He kissed her sweetly; then he rapped on the door, and a footman opened it and arranged the step.

"I'll come to see you tomorrow," Christopher declared.

"Bring Kate with you."

"I will."

She waited another second, but he didn't offer anything further, and she kept her smile firmly affixed. Turning, she climbed out, the servant courteously assisting her and giving no indication that he was aware of her scandalous demonstration.

At the last, Christopher murmured, "Selena ..."

"Yes?" She whipped around, expectant, encouraged, on tenterhooks of suspense.

For an eternity, he assessed her; then he said, "We'll talk on the morrow. When Kate is with us."

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What did he mean? Kate was her guardian, and her sister. Was he planning to propose? She couldn't bear to hope.

"All right." She nodded and fled into the building.

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Marcus entered the foyer of his own house, blinking to adjust his vision after being in the bright sunshine. As an adult, he'd vowed never to reside in the mansion, and so far, he'd succeeded, making rare appearances when duty forced him. He stared up the grand staircase, pondering why he couldn't muster any connection to the drafty, ostentatious place. The property had belonged to his family for three hundred years, and Pamela spent a fortune ensuring that it was fashionably decorated.

Heritage alone should have made it welcoming, but what he perceived was the dreary remnants of a forlorn childhood, the acrimonious memories of a confused adolescence. The walls echoed with bitter treachery and betrayal of a naive young fool who'd been enamored of the wrong woman.

Occasionally, he thought about his father, curious as to whether he'd regretted the perfidy he'd perpetuated with Pamela. By all accounts, their union had been rocky and filled with strife. Had she been worth the

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Cheryl Holt

loss of his relationship with his only son? Had he ever been repentant for what he'd done?

Marcus didn't know, and even if his father had undergone a deathbed conversion and had begged to apologize, Marcus wasn't sure he'd have cared to hear it. A pox on his sorry hide!

The butler espied him and rushed over, greeting him in an effusive way that left Marcus uncomfortable.
Ill
at ease with his title, he felt like an imposter who didn't merit such fussy displays. He'd known the elderly gentleman his entire life, had endured many a scolding, and even a few swats on the bottom if he'd been naughty, and it always seemed as if he were betraying the fellow by not being a more involved earl, by not embracing his legacy with more enthusiasm.

Whenever he dropped by, not just the butler but all the servants tried to be particularly obligin
g
—
i
n a manner they never were with Pamel
a
—
a
nd Marcus received the impression that they were on the verge of imploring him to move in, to send her packing.

Would they be any better off if he inflicted the likes of Melanie Lewis on them?

He cheered the butler by giving him a task to perform, having him set out plenty of brandy before Marcus went to his monthly appointment with Pamela. They'd discuss expenditures and singular requests she was dying to have him grant.

What a bitter tonic she had to swallow, being compelled to solicit him for every single farthing. He wasn't positive why his father hadn't provided for her in his will, but Marcus pictured the man laughing from his grave, enjoying the petty retribution.