Further Than Passion (23 page)

"Hello, Selena. It's so good to see you again."

"And you," Selena responded. "What a grand afternoon! I have both of you all to myself!"

"We need to chat," Chris advised her, and he guided her into the parlor, as Kate trailed after them. Selena flashed her a curious look as to whether she was aware of what he planned, but Kate kept her expression carefully blank.

Too nervous to dawdle, he escorted Selena to the sofa, fell to his knee, and clasped her hand. "My darling Selen
a
..."

Overwhelmed by emotion, he couldn't finish the sentence.

"What is it, Christopher?" she asked.

"You are the finest woman I've ever met."

"How sweet.
Grazie.
"

"I've known you less than a week, but I feel as if it's been a thousand years."

"I feel the same."

“Would you ... would you ... do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Tears welled into her eyes. "Oh, Chris ... oh . .."

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Terrified that she might spurn him, he hurried on. "I'm not claiming it won't be difficult. We'll have to deal with my mother, and my sister, and as my countess, you'll have many burdens. But I'll be standing by your side, and I'll always be your best friend."

"Of course you will."

"And I promise that I'll be a true and faithful husband, and I will love and cherish you till I take my last breath. Will you have me?"

She peered at Kate. "Is it all right with you?"

"Nothing would bring me more joy." Kate's eyes glistened with a few tears, too.

Selena turned to him. "Then, yes, I will have you, my dearest Christopher."

"You'll never be sorry."

"No, I never will."

Selena rested her palm on his cheek, which warmed and comforted him, and he could feel her heart beating, pounding in a rhythm with his own. In complete accord, it sealed their pact, joining them together as no vows ever could.

A ray of sunshine burst through the window, encasing them in its bright glow, making it seem as if heaven had approved. Recognizing that his world could never be more perfect than it was at that very instant, he offered up a prayer, for Selena and the many children they would have.

******************

The door to Christopher's room was locked, so Pamela took her key and used it to admit herself.

Foolish boy!
she mused. As if he could bar her, in her own house!

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He'd been out for hours, arriving home very late, and she was furious. He'd missed a special supper invitation, so she'd been forced to attend with Regina and Melanie, and after their earlier debacle with Stamford, civility simply hadn't been possible.

Pamela wanted them gone, but she couldn't kick them out until she'd convinced Chris to stay in London.

In light of Marcus's comments about Melanie, drastic measures were warranted. Pamela had to stabilize her future, and she couldn't rely on him.

For fourteen years, she'd been beholden to one Stamford male or another, and where had it landed her? With no property, no assets, and not a penny to her name. That's where! Not even her clothes were her own.

She'd laid her cards on the table with Regina, had pledged to deliver Marcus's head on a platter, in exchange for Regina's permitting her pursuit of Christopher. The old bat had enthusiastically agreed, having grasped that if there was anyone in London who had a chance at persuading Stamford, it was Pamela.

Yet, after his curt disavowal of Melanie, Regina had accused her of false negotiations, of reneging on their bargain. With Regina so irate, Pamela couldn't count on her keeping her word. Regina couldn't be trusted, and Pamela realized that she'd finally stumbled upon someone more ruthless than herself.

It was time to assume control of her own destiny. She desired Chris. For his fortune, and his title, but for himself, too. No man could satisfy her as he did. She was pining away, fantasizing and moping.

She had taught him so much, had given so much of herself, but he continued to be cool and detached,

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keeping a subtle wall erected between them. Their interactions were highly charged and passionate, but when they were concluded, he buttoned his trousers and departed, leaving her with the impression that his fondness wasn't increasing, and she couldn't bear the notion.

Before Regina herded them to Doncaster, Pamela had to secure her situation. Christopher needed a reason to remain behind, and she intended to be that reason.

She could make him love her! She just knew she could. As an unsophisticated child, he couldn't fight her steely determination. Despite the cost, she would have him for her own, and no one was going to stand in her way.

A footman had notified her that he'd rung for a bath, and she could distinguish the scent of soap and hot water emanating from his dressing room. She sauntered over and peeked in. He was relaxing in the tub, his glorious blond hair washed and pushed off his forehead, his skin slippery and wet.

"Hello, Chris."

"I thought I heard you." He sighed. "Pa
m
, when I lock my door, most people would take it to mean that I don't wish to be disturbed."

"You would keep
me
out?"

"What do you want?"

"Can't you guess?"

She slithered out of her robe, her lush figure vividly outlined by her negligee. He scrutinized her torso, his torrid gaze following her as she walked to the dresser and deposited the wine and glasses she'd brought.

While he might pretend no interest, might act aloof and grumble over her presence, his body couldn't lie.

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If she reached under the bathwater, he'd be hard as a rock.

Her back was to him, so he couldn't see what she was up to as she removed the cork from the vial of love potion the apothecary had sold her. The mixture was dark red, and it had an earthy odor. She dumped an equal amount into each goblet, added some wine to conceal the drug, then faced him.

He'd exited the tub and was wrapping a towel around his waist, shielding his privates from view, but she could detect the tempting bulge where his erection prodded the fabric.

She smiled. "Will you join me in a nightcap?"

He accepted the glass but didn't drink from it. "You have to quit visiting me," he scolded. "I can't have my mother finding out about us."

"What if she did? Would it be so awful?"

"If we're discovered, there will be a big fuss, which I couldn't abide."

"Let's not worry about it now."

She sampled hers, liking the musky flavor the tincture had supplied. As if the tonic was urging her on, she eagerly gulped it down. Her serving was empty, but he still hadn't raised his, and she began to fret that he wouldn't. He could be such a Puritan!

"Don't be a spoilsport," she coaxed. "I've missed you all day."

She traced the rim of his cup, seducing him with her eyes. From the first, he hadn't been able to resist her, and this occasion was no different. He considered refusing; then he swallowed it down.

He smacked his lips, and ran his tongue over his teeth. "It tastes odd."

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"It grows on you." She gestured to his goblet. “Try another sip."

Shrugging, he complied. "It's not so bad."

She smirked
,
silently cheering her scheme and buoyed by the prospects for success. 'To us, darling. May all our dreams come true."

₁₅

Kate sat in her room, staring out at the night sky. Rain was falling, hitting the ground in muted thumps, the flowers in the garden drooping. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a cold breeze fluttered by, cooling her heated skin.

While she was trying to be glad for Selena and Christopher, their news had her so unhappy that her heart ached. Their joy illuminated the poor choices she'd made in her life. The dissatisfaction that bubbled below the surface was leaking out, inundating her in misery.

She had nothing and no one to call her own. Why hadn't she demanded more for herself? Why hadn't she picked a different path?

As she looked down the road to her return to Don-caster, it was such a grim, forlorn vision. Was this all there was? Would she putter away forever little more than Regina's unpaid servant?

On Kate's dresser, she espied the bottle meant to hold a love potion. In case Melanie ever asked for it, it

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now contained red wine. But Kate had drunk the original. Had it been magic? Could it have caused so much despair?

Lying next to the vial she could see the note and single pink rose Marcus had had delivered. His ring was on her finger.

Come to me at midnight,
the message read, and he'd signed it with the initial 5.

Her time with him was condensed to minutes and hours, her imminent departure looming like a black hole, yet for once, she couldn't go upstairs.

He seemed to realize that she wouldn't visit of her own accord, that she'd need to be cajoled, although his coercion hadn't worked. In a subtle fashion she didn't understand, the events of the afternoon had changed things between them. A veil had been lifted, revealing her actions for what they were. She'd been operating in a trance, mesmerized to folly, not thinking clearly or making sound decisions.

Why had she been fornicating with him? Her conduct violated every tenet she believed, everything she valued about herself.

By running into him in the light of day, in his elegant foyer, a shift had been created in their relationship. It was obvious they didn't belong together, that they had naught in common, and she had to extricate herself from the conundrum into which she'd leapt.

She'd wandered far outside of the bounds of her humble existence, and she had to find her way back, so that when she quit London and went home she could reestablish herself in the country with a modicum of contentment. If she didn't, her quiet routine at Don-caster would slowly drive her mad.

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Long before he arrived, she heard his footsteps approaching. She hadn't locked her door, for she couldn't keep him out if he was determined to enter. He would never allow her to ignore his summons, so she'd been expecting him to appear. It was beyond him to let her go until he was good and ready. He was powerful and stubborn, a selfish, omnipotent king, and the mere thought of defying him made her tired.

Flouting his wishes was like sailing into a hurricane. It was impossible to weather the experience unscathed.

He didn't bother to knock, but spun the knob and marched in. She stood, dreading the confrontation, but prepared for it nonetheless.

"What is your sister's name?" he challenged.

Feet braced, hands on hips, he was livid, condemning her, which was so absurd. About what did he have to be furious? She'd complied with his every request, had raced to ruin, had enthusiastically tried each decadent, wicked behavior he'd suggested. What more could he want? How much more had she to give? She felt ravaged, as if he were the devil who'd pilfered her earthly remains and who was now extorting her immortal
s
oul, t
o
o.

"Why this abrupt interest in me and my family? Have you discovered that you're human?"

The slur slid by him. "Tell me."

"How can it matter?"

'Tell me!" he snapped, beyond patience.

"Selena Bella."

"How old is she?"

"Sixteen."

"Why didn't you confide in me about her?"

"What purpose would it have served?"

2
1
0

"Perhaps I want to know."

"Other than my foolish and misguided attempts to please you in bed, when have you evinced the slightest curiosity about me?"

"Who was your mother?"

"A rash, impetuous fallen woman, who shamed everyone who cared about her."

"And your father?"

"A man of absolutely no consequence, at all."

She wasn't about to discuss her father, wasn't about to divulge that he'd been the Earl of Doncaster, that she'd once been treated like a princess and because of her mother's recklessness, and her father's weakness, she'd been left alone in the world to fend for herself. She'd choke to death before she'd explain any of it!

"So ... you were born on the wrong side of the blanket."

"Only you would reach such an insulting conclusion."

"What do you mean?"

"My mother was wed too young, to a man she despised, and she craved an excitement my father couldn't furnish. When I was eight, she ran off with her paramour, and I never saw her again."

"Selena is her illicit child?"

"My mother birthed no bastards, so you can put your suddenly pious mind to rest."