Further Than Passion (10 page)

He deepened the embrace, his tongue flicking at her bottom lip. Asking. Asking again. She opened and welcomed him inside, and he toyed and played, teased and tormented. He caressed her everywhere, and tentatively her arms folded around him. She was eager to caress him in return, but hesitant as to whether she should.

"It's all right to touch me, Kate. I like it."

"You make me want to be so wicked."

"I've never considered a tad of
wickedness
to be a bad trait in a female."

"You wouldn't."

She joined in, her fervor exhilarating and enchanting. She dallied with the wantonness of a courtesan, but the naturalness and curiosity of a sheltered maid. The incongruity drove him wild.

Exploring, she sifted her fingers through his hair, ran them across his shoulders and back, but she wasn't brave enough to dip any further. The expectation, the yearning for what she might do, was careening him to a fevered ledge.

In no time at all, he was too aroused to be prudent, and he worried that he'd instigate something reckless,

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something irreversible. Was he bent on deflowering her? Could he steal her chastity, here and now, with scarcely an instant of deliberation or preparation? Was she ready? Was he?

He clasped the strap of her negligee and slid it down, baring the creamy swell of her bosom. Her breast was exposed, her erect nipple jutting out, and he pinched it, squeezing lightly.

"Oh, Marcus ... we shouldn'
t
... we can'
t
... you don'
t
..."

"We can do whatever we please, Kate. There's no one to tell us no.
"

"But it's wrong."

"It's not wrong."

"It's the tincture you drank."

"I thought you said it's used for treating womanly ailments."

Caught in a lie, she stammered, "Wel
l.
.. wel
l
... it is, but it's obviously causing you to behave irrationally."

"You regard making love to be
irrational
?”

"It is when you're so fixated on me as your partner!"

"Are you trying to persuade yourself that I need to imbibe of a potion before you'd captivate me?" He grinned. "You're so perfect, Kate. And all mine."

"I don't understand what you want from me," she protested miserably.

"Yes, you do."

Abandoning her mouth, he blazed a trail down her neck, her chest, to her nipple. He licked and laved it, then he suckled her, and he couldn't believe how the action calmed him, how it pacified and comforted.

"Oh, oh yes ..." She sighed, and she seemed to add, "I dreamed of this...."

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He wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly. Had they experienced the same erotic reverie? Was it possible? Or was it merely another baf
f
ling consequence of the drug?

She drew him closer, urging him to feast. He bit and nibbled, until the extended tip was moist and inflamed; then he shifted to her other breast and gave it the same fierce attention.

Down below, he was pressing into her, letting her discern how hard he was, how desperately he desired her, and she adopted his tempo, her hips working with his in a furious rhythm. Her ardor was spiraling, and he was anxious to push her to the edge, to shove her over.

He started inching up her nightgown, and she was so overwhelmed that she didn't notice what he was about until he arrived at the vee of her thighs.

"Marcus, no!" She attempted to scoot away, but he locked his leg over hers and held her tight.

"Relax, Kate. Let me do this for you." He cupped her, shpping two fingers far inside. She was wet, primed for what was coming, and weeping into his hand.

She arched up and moaned. "Don't. It's to
o
... t
oo
..."

"Naughty? Delicious?"

"Yes. I can't bear it."

With his thumb, he jabbed at her sexual center, and she yelped with surprise, her anatomy struggling toward the end, even as her mind wrenched her away.

"What's happening to me?" she managed to gasp.

"It's pleasure, darling."

"I don't want this from you."

"You
may not, but your body is begging for it."

"I can't," she wailed. "I won't."

8
8

"For me, Kate. Do it for me."

He touched her once, again, as he sucked at he
r
nipple, and she cried out and leapt over the precipice with a ferocity he hadn't encountered with any of his prior paramours. He was convinced it was her first orgasm
,
and he was ecstatic to have spurred her to such riotous turmoil.

The agitation went on and on, and finally, it peaked and waned. He moved over her, and kissed her, softly, tenderly, thrilled that she trusted him enough to spin out of control, to grasp that she could when she was with him.

Her eyes fluttered open, and he wasn't positive what he expecte
d
—
p
erhaps a maidenly sigh, or one of her pithy remarks—
b
ut instead, she studied him, then burst into tears.

"What's this?" he inquired, his heart reeling, and he grabbed the quilt and swiped them away.

"Was that feminine passion?"

"A very dramatic example."

"I'm loose, aren't I?"

"Absolutely."

"Do you suppose it's in my blood?"

"I'm sure it is."

He was joking, but she was devastated, and a protracted bout of weeping ensued. Throughout the deluge, he cuddled with her, whispering soothing words, and he was amazed that he would.

He'd never before comforted a distraught woman, because he wouldn't have been inclined to remain through a display of histrionics. A female's emotional situation had no impact on his relationship with her,

8
9

and thus, she wouldn't be welcome, in his presence,
to
vent her anger or hurt

As he was special to no one, no one would dare impose on him, and it occurred to him that it was a sorry statement on the condition of his life. He was so isolated, and previously, his separateness hadn't bothered him. He'd liked his independent existence, but he was lonely, and there was a contentment in consoling Kate that he hadn't known he'd missed.

They were scarcely acquainted, yet she was rendering striking changes in how he carried on, in how he viewed himself. A flicker of excitement sparked within. Maybe he wasn't the cold, callous man others presumed him to be.

Eventually, her outburst diminished, her breathing slowed, and she dozed, which was another high spot for him. When he was philandering, he never dawdled after lusts were sated.

He lay very still, cataloging every detail of the precious moment. Her negligee was askew, and he tugged it down and covered her with the blankets. She was so exhausted that she didn't stir, and he brushed a kiss across her lips.

"Good night, my dear Kate," he murmured. "I'll see you on the morrow."

As if she'd heard and understood the comment, she smiled in her sleep.

He'd intended to rise and leave, but he couldn't bring himself to go, and he decided to rest for a few minutes. He napped
,
and when he woke, it was early morning. The mellow light of dawn crept in the window, and a bird chirped outside. He reached for her, but

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she wasn't there. Glancing around, he was astounded to find himself in his own bedchamber, in his own bed.

Stunned, he sat up, and his head pounded with such a sharp ache that he felt as if the top might blow off, as if he had the worst hangover in all eternity, when he shouldn't have been feeling poorly. He'd barely had anything to drin
k
—
e
xcept that blasted potion.

When had he left her room? How had he gotten to his own? Or had their rendezvous been a dream? He was disoriented, dizzy, his memory fuzzy. Were his recollections genuine, or simply another of the erotic fantasies his imagination kept conjuring?

Peering down at his hand, he was startled to note that the strip of green ribbon he'd untied from her hair was weaved through his fingers. A remark from the apothecary nagged at him, about possessing an object, about it being a sign that the mysterious elixir was working.

He shuddered. There was no magic in the world that could make him fall in love. Once before, he'd been bitten, and he'd nearly died from the viciousness of the wound, and he wouldn't be so foolish again.

The ribbon was merely evidence that the assignation had really transpired, that he'd been with her. It didn't mean more than that. It couldn't.

He wondered if she'd awakened yet, and he was curious as to what she'd think of the intimacies they'd shared. No doubt, she'd be embarrassed, and she'd try to hide from him, which he wouldn't allow. She was like a burr under his saddle, her proximity pricking at him, compelling him to talk to her, to be with her.

Ignoring the hammering in his head, he climbed out of bed, ready to dress and be about his business. With a

9
1

renewed energy, he rang for breakfast, and as he waited for a servant to appear, he calculated all the ways he could guarantee that Miss Kate Duncan entertained him throughout the day and into the coming night.

The prospect was thrilling, and he realized that he hadn't been so enthused in a very, very long time.

₇

"You're sweet to accompany me." Kate smiled at Christopher.

"How could I refuse?"

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"If I hadn't wanted to come, I'd have said so. Quit worrying."

"Well, wouldn't you rather be engaged in activities back at the house? Any of them would be more fun than traipsing across London with me."

"I've had my fill of the
activities
at Lady Pamela's." Relaxing against the squab, he stretched his feet, which was difficult in the cramped space. "Believe me, I was glad for the excuse to get away."

Was he as tired of the marital plotting as she was? Or was he weary of the sly looks from the mothers who sized him up, trying to determine if he might be a worthy husband for their rich, spoiled daughters?

He was always optimistic and eager, pleasant and courteous, and Kate cherished him for it.

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"
Promise me that you'll never apprise your mother of where we went today. And that you'll never inquire as to what I'm doing."

Exasperated, he rolled his eyes. "I gave you my word ten times already!"

"Make it eleven."

"On a stack of Bibles, I swear it!"

He clutched his hand to his heart, and she laughed. She had to visit Selen
a
—
n
ot out of curiosity but out of dut
y
—
b
ut hadn't had any coin to rent a cab, nor could she expect to utilize the family coach. She was in no position to impose on Lady Pamela, and the only other person she could have asked was Stamford, but she'd swallow a frog before she'd approach him.

The man was a wizard, a sorcerer, who preyed on unsuspecting females, and urged them to commit acts they'd never imagined. At least, that was how she'd convinced herself to view her behavior.

There was no way in the world she'd admit that she'd enjoyed their frolic, that she'd been complicit in her total fall from grace. If she'd protested, he wouldn't have proceeded. At any point, she could have stopped him, so her true colors were established. She was a strumpet, and it was all her own fault.

It was a relief, having a chore to drag her out of the mansion for the afternoon. She declined to mope in her room, speculating as to where he was, how he was occupying himself, and i
f
—
b
y chanc
e
—
h
e might be thinking of her.

Christopher had been a lifesaver, happy to assist, and polite enough not to plague her with questions about her destination.

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The carriage rumbled to a halt, and scowling, he peered out the curtain. "Are you certain you have the correct address?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It's not the best neighborhood. Perhaps I shouldn't let you out."

Hiding her dismay, she peeked out, too. The area was extremely seedy. Unsavory characters strolled past, and a pack of ragged children ran by. The building before them was dilapidated, the paint chipped
,
the fence in pieces
.