Passion (19 page)

“I’m curious, as to why you aren’t curious,
regarding all that’s happened tonight. I’ll wager you did not know
Blaise was my brother, let alone Raith.”

“You’d be wrong. I know many things about
many people. Just because I don’t speculate or gossip about them
aloud, doesn’t mean I do not.” Her gaze seemed to roam his face.
“The half of society, who does not disregard me as a scandalous
blue stocking, ignores me completely. People whisper and talk.”

“Do they?”

“Not much. Nevertheless, I pay attention. I
know your ancestry and siblings, just as I do most of the titled.
While I may not be one of those who bow at your feet, it’s always
wise, in any country, any society, to know who is in power.”

It was his turn to snort. “I assure you, I
don’t rule England.”

“No. Only society, in a manner of speaking.
You are the ideal that men want to live up to and emulate—and the
sort mothers want their daughters to wed. You are regarded as the
epitome of wealthy peer and aristocrat. You’re the mirror, the ton
holds up to the world.”

“You now know, from tonight’s events at
least, that is their (presumption) of who the Earl of Stoneleigh
is.”

“One you’ve perpetuated.”

“Perhaps.”

She shook her head. “You built that image
yourself.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Nor was I,” she retorted. “Just stating
facts. I’m not enough a part of either society, nor do I want to
be—for it to matter to me who they deem perfect, or who inspires
awe, generally speaking. I would not change myself or trade my life
for anyone, or any society. I’m on the outside looking in, by
choice.”

He arched his brow. “What was your
point?”

She smiled more fully at that arrogant lift
of brow. “I didn’t have one, save that nothing that happened here
tonight, or in the future, makes me think less of you, or any of
your family. I respect what I know of his Grace and what I’ve seen
of your brother, cousin, yourself….although, you’re a terrible
snob.”

“I am.” He agreed straight-faced.

She kept smiling. “But. I do not live a life
of apologies. I’m not sorry for my past, my present, and since I’m
an intelligent woman, I’ll do very little of it in the future.”

“Who asked you to?”

“You were about to. You were trying to get me
to admit I’m not as pure as young ladies should be, and then expect
me to apologize for it.”

Jules said nothing for long moments. He
simply looked at her, surprised by her frankness. Even when his
mind said dryly this is Harriet Brunswick, what do you expect? He
still found himself oddly understanding her attitude—and that
shocked him about himself.

He must have stared too long, because when he
looked at her mouth, he noticed her smile had vanished. Swiftly
glancing at her eyes, he saw them slightly shielded.

“I’m sorry.” He did not know what he was
sorry for, but he was discomforted that he had perhaps insulted her
or been rude.

She turned her head. “Nothing to be sorry
for, Stoneleigh.”

Jules let a few ticks of the clock go by,
feeling a kind of tension and thickness in the air suddenly. He
tried jesting, “Since we’ll have shared a bed, you can call me
Jules.”

She made an amused sound, yet it was not like
before. “In case you haven’t noticed, I did so, often tonight.”

He looked away from her and up at the
ceiling, hands on his stomach too, while he tried to discern the
feelings, if it was the terrible day, what he still had to face,
the blackmail and the aftermath of whatever happened with Raith—or
perhaps it was the complete oddness of himself, the Earl of
Stoneleigh, lying in bed with—Lady Harriet Brunswick, of all
people.

The bed shifted again. He turned his head
watching her go to the corner and turn down the lamp. She opened
the door wider, so that if Raith stirred they could hear him
easily. That bit of light bathed the room in dark amber.

Watching the play of that light on the silk
robe, he caught a glimpse of shapely leg when she walked over to
look down and out the window. She had a graceful neck. Yes a long
and graceful body, on the boyish side, but there was something very
fine in Harry—which made her frankness and boldness all the more
titillating.

Good God. What was he doing? Jules mentally
shook himself. Yet when she padded to the dressing table and opened
a box, withdrawing a cheroot and lighting it—he half sat up,
leaning on his elbow to regard her. “I certainly hope that’s for
me.”

She turned blowing the smoke, and then
bringing it to him. “I’ll share.” She laughed softly when he
groaned.

“I should be unconscious, I’m so tired,” he
murmured drawing on the cheroot.

“Um. Quite a day.” She sat on the bed by his
hip, holding a tray for his ashes.

Jules did not mean to keep looking at her,
but he was as he smoked. His eyes noticed the very fine texture of
her skin, smooth like silk. There was a certain way she held her
mouth, and it was an attractive mouth.

He was aware she watched him looking at her.
Jules told himself that once he was home, everything he did tonight
would be excusable, because it was simply a nightmare from start to
finish.

She took the last drag from the cheroot and
then set the tray on the small table, afterwards sharing a finger
of brandy with him.

He was more relaxed, at least, Jules believed
that, until she came to the side of the bed. Harry pushed down her
side of the covers and dropped the robe, sliding in, and getting
comfortable, partly laying on her side, and part on her
stomach.

Harriet—had a lovely body, graceful
shoulders, long legs, high small breasts, slim waist, nice hips,
creamy skin—and lovely, very lovely, pink nipples.

“You’re not playing some game of seduction,
are you, Harry?”

“No,” her voice reached him.

“I thought not.” He sighed.

“Stoneleigh?”

“Umm.” He looked up at the ceiling.

“You are perfect. In looks, at least. You
should wear a towel more often.”

His lips curved.

“Not—that you don’t look handsome in a
ballroom, but too snobbish and cold, by half. Tonight was the first
time I had noticed how beautiful your green eyes are. Well, until
your amazing body distracted me.”

Oh, she was a wicked young thing. He shook
his head a little, smiling wider. “Harry?”

“Um.”

“You’ve a lovely body, too. And, very
beautiful eyes.”

He felt her chuckle. She murmured, “If only I
didn’t have a brain to go with it.”

“If only…” he murmured.

Several moments passed and Jules turned his
head, his gaze resting on her nape, looking at her hair waving
there against it. Her shoulders were above the covers. The amber
light did lovely things to enhance them.

“Get some rest, Stoneleigh. If I ever do take
it in my mind to seduce you, it won’t be whist you’re preoccupied
with something else.”

He rolled to his side to sleep, but was still
aware of her, very much aware of the scents of her bedchamber, the
pleasant smell of the sheets and covers. “I don’t have affairs
Harriet.”

“I know.”

He grunted but did not open his eyes. Then he
rolled over, up on his elbow, catching her chin and making her look
at him.

She rolled to her back.

Looking into those gray eyes, he murmured,
“It would be a mistake.” His thumb brushed her lower lip.

She bit the pad of his thumb.

Stoneleigh shuddered. “I don’t—“

“—
I know.” She let her
tongue touch his thumb before he moved it. “You play everything
safe, Jules. You dare not lose control.”

“I have my life planned out for a reason,
Harry.”

“That has always been obvious too.” Her
lashes dipped. “I don’t plan much of anything.”

He allowed his gaze to move down and view
those breasts, small but pert, the nipples tight and aroused, where
the sheet slipped, then back up.

She did not look from his as she said, “I’ll
have to remember you like this once this night is done and we are
in society—where I’m invisible, and you are surrounded by admirers.
I will remember that your eyes are not always aloof and glass
green, so distant….I’ll admire you in your formal clothing, but
remember that underneath is the sculpted body of a very different
sort.” Her hand raised to his hair, then touched his cheek while
she smiled slightly. “You’re too beautiful for words, Stoneleigh.
And it’s a pity you deprive women of enjoying it.”

Warm, his blood heating, body stirred, Jules
smiled too, playing more cool than he felt.

“You don’t pleasure women, do you?”

“I don’t…seek out the kind who expects it,”
he answered dryly.

“Oh well,” her smile curved fully. “It was
worth a try.” Her brow arched. “One hopes that in your plans, which
assuredly include the perfect biddable wife, and future Duchess,
you will know what to do when the time comes. Or do you intend
to—“

“Enough,” he whispered and reached to move
her hand from his face, though his actions were slow.

Jules still held it aside her head on the
pillow as he regarded her and murmured, “You might not be seducing
me, Harry, but you’re tempting me.”

“At least I do that.”

He kissed her nose. “You’ll make a good
friend.”

He rolled away and heard her murmur, “If I
must.”

“You really must, Harry. You deserve someone
who will enjoy you thoroughly. I don’t have that luxury.”

“You could, if you’d let yourself. The world
won’t end if you become human, Stoneleigh.”

“Mine would, Harry. Not yours, but mine.”

After a long sigh, she reached back and pat
is flank, an oddly affectionate gesture.

Jules smiled, and not long afterwards,
slept.

He was up and gone early the next
morning.

Chapter 7

Gabriella remained in a fog the first day she
awoke. She did ask the physician where she was, and discovered she
was in the Duke of Coulborn’s townhouse.

Sore, aching in her muscles, she endured the
probes and examinations from the older physician, answering his
questions as best she could, though still oddly detached. He asked
frankly about the bruises and marks on her body. She told him the
truth—without naming names. Frowning, obviously wanting to ask more
questions, he pronounced her in shock, and after dosing her with
some sedative, leaving behind a topical salve, he left her
alone.

She slept for several hours then opened her
eyes sometime in the evening. A maid was moving quietly around the
richly furnished room.

“A bath…” Gabriella managed, licking her
lips, feeling a slight headache too, from the drugs.

“Yes. Miss.” The maid came to her. Having
bright gold hair and blue eyes, a white cap on her head, the woman
was in her mid-twenties. She peered at Gabriella closely and
offered, “Would you like to eat first. I have a tray here. His
Grace sent for some clothing for you, they should be arriving soon.
You’re more….shapely, than Lady Caroline.”

“I’ll eat after I bathe, if that is all
right.”

“Of course. Whatever you wish.” The woman
helped her up to sit, and then left her to draw the bath. Gabriella
held the sheet around herself, smelling the smoke scent in her
hair, singed somewhat.

When the bath was ready, she excused the maid
who closed the door behind her. Dropping the sheet, she lowered
herself in and dunked under, lazing for some time just letting it
ease her muscles.

Washing herself was a slow and painful
business. Gabriella tried not to think beyond the moment. She
wanted to know two things—nothing mattered though, as much as
knowing it was done. It was over.

She lingered in the bath and then dried,
wrapping herself in the toweling. The maid was there, on the other
side of the door, waiting.

“I’ll see to your hair.”

Submitting, Gabriella allowed her to snip,
trim, and then comb it. She tied it back and by then the clothing
came—a simple gown and robe was what she chose, eyeing the riding
habit and carriage suit the girl drew out of the boxes, stockings,
boots, as well.

Before eating, she let the maid smooth on the
salve, their eyes meeting several times, and the maid instead of
Gabriella, doing the wincing. Gabriella felt every welt and burn
and bruise was worth it.

Sitting in the robe, she ate, and the maid
left with the tray afterwards.

By the window, Gabriella stared out and
sipped coffee with thick cream. When the knock sounded, she turned
her head and watched a young woman come through the door.

Strawberry hair and aqua blue eyes, the woman
was dressed in a silk gown with swags of net on the hips, a low and
round neck, and she wore pearls in her ears.

She was handsome, and cultured in voice, when
she spoke. “How are you feeling?” she asked, and then waved her
hand. “Never mind, that sounds like an obtuse question, doesn’t
it?” Walking over with a swish of that expensive material, she half
sat, facing Gabriella. “I’m Lady Caroline. We’re half-sisters.”

Gabriella looked at her closer. “Gabriella…or
Tara…”

“Gabriella…that’s a beautiful name. Father
will be up to see you. I think he’s a bit nervous—as I am,
truthfully.” The woman smiled and Gabriella watched her scanning
over her face. “I thought it might help if I explain his story,
before he tells it.”

“He doesn’t owe me an explanation,” Gabriella
returned quietly. She shrugged and turned her gaze out the window.
“I could have come to him, when….I could have, but I chose not
to.”

“Yes, well. He regrets not being in your
life.”

“It wasn’t a life,” Gabriella muttered and
then looked at her. “Your pardon. I’m not blaming him...”

“No. Don’t be.” Those light eyes went over
her face. “You’ve obviously been through a lot.” Standing, Lady
Caroline said, “I haven’t told my father that I knew about you, I
discovered his relationship and your birth…. I was trying to find
you.”