PortraitofPassion (29 page)

Bea felt her heart soar. She walked toward him and he opened
his arms to enfold her in a warm embrace, her head resting upon his chest. She
listened to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and true, the only sound in the
cozy kitchen

* * * * *

Simon sat with Henry over brandy in the dining room as long
as he could. He tried to pay attention to Henry’s excited chatter about the
cottage, the rolling hills and the shady woods. He barely heard his cousin, all
his thoughts were with the woman upstairs.

He pictured her naked in her bath and wanted to join her, to
lather his hands and drag them over her luscious body. He wanted to wrap her in
a towel and carry her to her bed and make love to her all night. He shifted
uncomfortably in his seat.

“Go to her already,” Henry ordered with a chuckle. “You’re
not listening to me anyway.”

Simon detoured to the room across the hall from Beatrice’s
for a quick wash before joining her.

He knocked softly on her door and then pushed it open.
Beatrice was sitting on the floor before a low fire, brushing her hair. He
watched her rise slowly to her feet as he closed the door behind him. He could
see her body outlined in the thin white nightgown she wore. His body broke out
in a thin layer of sweat beneath the dressing gown he had donned.

They didn’t speak as he came into her bedroom. Suddenly
Simon was nervous, anxious. He remembered the last time they had been together
in her chamber in London and shame gripped him.

Beatrice stood silently in the center of her childhood
bedroom and watched him. What was she thinking? Was she also remembering that
night? Was she dreading the moment when he would put his hands upon her? He
felt her silent gaze as he wandered around the room, running his fingers over
the soft wood of her small desk, studying the old armoire against the wall,
watching the candles on the mantle flicker, fingering the lacy curtains before
looking out the window at the dark night beyond.

He was hungry for her. His hands shook with the need to pull
her into his arms. He kept his back to her, afraid she would take one look at
him and see his desperate desire and shrink away from him.

“Simon?” she whispered.

“Now that we are alone together, here in your room, I find
myself nervous,” he admitted quietly. He continued to gaze out the window.

“Why?” she asked from behind him.

Simon hesitated and then drew in a shaky breath. He turned
to her and in the dim candlelight he saw her eyes glowing. He watched as she
dragged her gaze down over his chest, partly exposed by the dressing gown, and
lower to the unmistakable proof of his desire. He felt his cock jerk and pulse.

Bea crossed the room toward him and Simon’s gaze drifted
down to caress her breasts before lowering to take in the gentle sway of her
hips. His eyes jumped back up to meet hers as she stopped in front of him,
close enough to touch. He clamped his jaw tight and waited. Bea looked down at
his fists clenched against his thighs.

She reached out and clasped his hands in hers and brought
them up, opening his fists and spreading his fingers. She looked into his eyes
and placed his hands upon her breasts and held them there.

“You will not hurt me,” she whispered.

“Never again,” he promised and could not keep his fingers
from flexing on her soft flesh, so warm beneath the thin nightdress.

“You did not hurt me that night,” she told him, her voice
soft.

“I did,” he replied and he knew Bea saw the regret in his
eyes.

“Oh Simon,” she whispered. “I will not lie to you. You hurt
me here.” Bea pressed his hand above her heart.

“Beatrice,” Simon began, wishing he knew the words to
reassure her that it would never happen again.

“But you did not hurt me physically,” she interrupted. “You
were rough, true, but we have loved passionately. And it was not the first time
our passions ran away with us. I hope it will not be the last.”

“I will never take you roughly again,” he insisted.

“You will,” she countered. “You will take me roughly and I
will enjoy it just as I have enjoyed all the times we have made love, whether
we are gentle and slow or fast and wild. You did not take me against my will,
Simon, and you never will. I know this deep in my heart. I am not a fragile
creature. And I do not wish you to treat me as one. I want everything, Simon. I
want your passion. I want you.”

Simon’s breath hitched in his lungs at her words. Desire
slammed into him like a fist, his blood sang with it, he was suddenly overcome
with the urge to be inside her warmth, to reclaim what he had thought he had
lost forever.

Simon was taut with need and still he did not move. After
all that had happened, after he had used her so cruelly, Beatrice still wanted
him. He could see the desire in her eyes, so dark they were nearly black, he
could feel the desire in the rapid beat of her heart beneath his hand and he
could hear it in the soft panting of her breath.

“I have no words to tell you how I love you,” he whispered.

“Show me,” she whispered in reply.

Simon reached his arms out and pulled her gently to him and
Beatrice, his lovely, trusting, forgiving Beatrice, lifted her mouth to receive
his kiss. He kissed her softly, gently, carefully, worshiping her mouth,
coaxing her lips open to receive him. And she did. She stroked her tongue along
his before sucking it into her mouth. And that quickly, Simon was lost, lost in
a sea of driving need, his body shaking with his desire to bury himself in her
warmth.

“Bea,” he growled into her mouth. “Wait…let me…slow down.”

“Simon,” she moaned, pushing her breasts into the hard wall
of his chest.

The feel of her soft flesh pressed against him, the sound of
her moans, drove him. He was on fire for her.

He reached down and grasped her soft, round ass, squeezing
and kneading her flesh, pulling her hard against his throbbing cock. Bea moaned
and squirmed against him. For one horrible moment he thought she was trying to
pull away from him. He dragged his lips from hers and looked down into her
eyes. He saw only passion in their dark depths.

“Please,” she whispered as she raised herself onto her toes
and pushed her soft heat against his rigid flesh before pulling his lips down
to hers once more. She speared her tongue into his mouth and Simon caught her
wild sob and groaned.

He squeezed her ass, dragged his hands down to her thighs
and lifted her, spreading her long legs until she wrapped them around his
waist. He carried her across the room to the bed and together they tumbled onto
the mattress, mouths still fused, tongues stroking.

Bea released her grip on his neck and pushed his robe from
his shoulders. He broke their kiss and leaned back to drag the robe from his
body and toss it aside before pulling her nightdress up her body and over her
head.

He knelt between Beatrice’s legs, his breath sawing in and
out of his lungs, and looked at her. She was beautiful in her passion, her hair
fanned out around her like a golden cloud, her breasts lifting and falling with
her rapid breathing, their pink peaks begging for his mouth.

Simon fell upon them like a starving man, his hands cupping,
shaping, squeezing while he took one nipple into his mouth to suckle.

“Oh Simon,” Beatrice cried, her hips bucking up against his
cock where it rested between her legs. She grabbed his head, her fingers diving
into his hair, her nails scouring his scalp.

Simon moved his attentions to her other breast and Beatrice
moaned with pleasure, her head thrashing about.

“Please,” she begged.

“Beatrice,” Simon growled as he reared back to kneel between
her legs once more. He spread her thighs wide, grasped them in his hands and
lifted, bringing her up to his waiting mouth.

“Simon!” Bea cried out as his hot mouth enveloped her.

The taste of her heat, the sound of her cries drove him mad.
He speared his tongue into her warmth, opening her, feasting on her flesh,
devouring her. He found her clitoris and sucked the pearl between his lips,
flicked his tongue over and around until Beatrice began to writhe against his mouth.

“Simon,” she moaned between panting breaths. “I
can’t…please…I want you inside me.”

Simon raised his head and looked at Beatrice. She looked
back at him with desire-darkened eyes. Her hips jerked in his hands. Coming up
over her, he brought the tip of his cock to her waiting warmth. His fingers
flexed on her hips as he held her steady and pushed the engorged head into her
tight sheath. He drew in a deep breath and savored the feel of her hot flesh
clenching around him.

“Ahh,” Beatrice moaned beneath him, straining, pushing her
hips up in his hands, trying to take more of his cock into her body.

Simon thrust forward, pushing deeper into her warmth, slowly
stretching her. He captured her lips and drove his tongue into her waiting
mouth as he drove his cock deep into her body.

Bea gripped his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin,
and convulsed around him. He felt the force of her release, felt her inner
muscles gripping him and her hips shaking as she pushed against him. Simon
rocked against her, drawing a deep, dark moan from her lips. He caught her
moan, drank her passion, held her tight as her climax washed over them both.

She tore her mouth from his and threw her head back.

“Simon,” she cried. “Oh Simon!”

The rippling waves of her release tightened around his shaft
and with a groan he drew back and thrust forward into her tight heat over and
over again. He was mindless with desire. He felt the first shivers of his
orgasm, wrapped his arms around her, under her, and dropped his mouth to the
curve of her neck, drawing her warm, salty skin into his mouth as he buried
himself deep within her.

His release slammed into him, the force of it shaking his
body as he poured his seed into her. He felt her arms and legs tighten around
him as if she would never let him go.

“Beatrice, ahh God, Bea,” he groaned as he fell to rest upon
her, his entire body replete with satisfaction. Bea rubbed her hands in soft
circles on his back as their heartbeats returned to normal and their breathing
steadied.

Rolling over, Simon pulled Bea snug against his side, her
head resting contentedly on his chest, her long legs tangled with his.

“Henry has offered me Idyllwild,” Beatrice whispered some
minutes later, her hands wandering across his chest.

“Good,” Simon replied softly. He’d known Henry intended to
give her back her home, had suspected that was the reason he had gone into the
kitchen after dinner.

Beatrice’s fingers stilled for a moment before resuming
their featherlike caresses.

“I have refused his offer.”

“Why?” Simon asked in surprise. “This is your home.”

“It was my home,” she replied. She turned her head to burrow
her face into the crook of his neck.

“It can be again,” he said in confusion.

“No.” She raised her head, met his eyes briefly and looked
away again, toward the window and the dark night beyond. “I do not want to live
as my mother did.”

“What are you saying?”

“My mother spent twenty years here waiting for my father.
Always waiting.” Beatrice’s voice was soft and infinitely sad.

“Beatrice,” Simon began.

“I’ve been thinking about the property you purchased. Winter
Haven. Is it close to London?”

“Four or five hours,” he answered.

“I think perhaps I would rather live at Winter Haven.” She
rose and sat beside him, her long legs curled under her, her dark eyes earnest.
“I would not like to be so far away from you.”

“Far away?” he asked.

“If I live at Winter Haven we would be so much nearer to one
another. If I am only a few hours from town you could visit me as often as you
like.”

“I could visit you?” Simon racked his brain, trying to
understand what she was saying to him.

“And I would visit you in the city too, of course,” she
hurried to explain. “I could stay with Bertie.”

“Stay with Bertie?” Simon was beginning to feel like a
parrot, but really Beatrice was not making sense.

“Oh I see, yes, you are right. Perhaps I could find a small
town house. Somewhere we could be alone together.”

And then Simon understood.

“Beatrice, my love.” He rose to his knees before her, took
her hands in his.

“It does not matter where I live, Simon, as long as you are
near.”

“Beatrice,” he tried again.

“For so long I dreamed of Idyllwild, of returning to my
home, to my place in the world. But I did not understand, Simon.” Beatrice’s
voice broke and her eyes filled. “I did not understand that it was never about
Idyllwild, it was never about a house. It was ever about family, about
belonging. You are my family, Simon. You are my home. You are my place in the
world. I belong with you.”

“Oh Beatrice,” Simon whispered as he leaned down to capture
her lips with his. He kissed her with all the love he felt for her. “You do
belong with me and I belong with you.”

“I never understood…all those years Mama waited for Papa to
come home.” Beatrice leaned back to meet his eyes. “I understand now, Simon. I
would wait for you all the years of my life. I want to have your children, our
children. I want them to grow up happy and loved and free as I did. I want them
to know their father, to share their lives with him, with you. Idyllwild can no
longer be my home. Winter Haven shall be my home, our home. And when you are
free, when you are able, you will come to us there and we will be a family.”

Simon slowly shook his head in amazement that even now she
did not know how much he loved her, how essential she was to him.

“No, Beatrice,” he whispered and watched as her eyes
widened. “It cannot be as you say.”

“Simon, please,” she cried.