Passion (21 page)

Caroline watched his face, saw desire there
and something that echoed what she was feeling. Although she indeed
trembled, she loved the feel of his touch as much as his kisses.
From the side of the lenses she could see his eyes were closed, and
there was a savoring look on his face that told her he was enjoying
it as much as she.

Nibbling, placing small kisses over her lips,
her cheek, and ear, he skimmed his palm inward, gently parting her
legs.

Caroline drew in a sharp breath. His touch
was light, delicate, but it trailed up, over her curls and then
down again, this time parting them and gliding, moving smoothly in
her moist heat, to a spot between the lips. There he circled,
touched sensitive nerves with the tip of his finger, whispering in
her ear, “Soft and silken. You are incredibly beautiful to
touch.”

She moaned, everything inside her tightening,
all senses centering on that exquisite burn he was stoking.
Caroline was helpless when her hips bucked, jolted by an intense
spark. She whispered, “It feels wonderful, exquisite. I never
knew…”

“Neither did I.” He groaned and kissed her.
It was deeper, more passionate, so that everything seemed to
tighten and heighten between them. She heard her harder breaths,
heard his grow darker. His finger eased inside of her.

Dragging her mouth from his, she moved her
hand to his sides, feeling his heat and strength while arching her
neck and whispering only heaven knew what, as he so slowly, so
easily, thrust in and out so the length of his finger was brushing
walls inside that contracted against it.

“Christ.” He panted as if having been holding
his breath. Then his thumb touched what he had stroked before, and
he took Caroline out of her head with the rubbing of it, between
his finger easing in and out.

Feeling herself contract against it, she
worked feverishly at his buttons until she could reach his bare
skin—carved, so hot. She ran her open mouth over his collarbone,
tasted his skin, feeling so wicked, so very sexual that nothing but
what he was doing to her seemed right.

Blaise eased up a bit, giving her access to
his nipple, his finger holding inside of her while she
experimented, licked and then finally suckled. When her teeth sank
onto it, he muttered huskily and moved back, turning, widening her
legs—then his head was going down—between them.

With a small cry, a shattering moan, she
arched up.

His fingers held her open, his mouth was
there, licking, rubbing, and one finger teased her opening before
she felt lightening race through her and explode.

Caroline heard his moan, was aware he laved
and tasted her through the climax. She was intoxicated with
pleasure.

Blaise raised and turned, kissing her deep
and sensually. He took the hand that rested on his side, moving it,
showing her where he wanted touched.

He was rock hard and though she had never
touched a man before, Caroline wanted to touch him very badly.

With a few whispers while intimate kisses
were exchanged, he unlatched and wrapped her fingers around the
thick velvet hardness. More kissing, tasting tongues while she felt
the power in him, the strength and potent maleness as his cock slid
through her fist. He eased down and had his mouth on her nipple,
his fist over hers.

“You’re so hot, so soft, you feel so good.”
She whispered, lost still, on a wave of carnal pleasure.

She heard him husk, “Oh, God…” in a manner
much like she had feeling him pleasure her, before he lifted
himself over her, between her legs. There was not enough room, but
she welcomed him there and held her hands against his spine as he
rubbed the head of his sex against her.

His frame trembled and his dark breathing
sounded against her temple before he uttered hoarsely, “You’re a
virgin…”

“Yes.”

He muttered something before sliding once,
twice and then shuddering, the groan in his throat low and
throbbing.

It was afterwards, when they had washed
themselves, Caroline having to find the water decanter, making use
of his handkerchief, and then handing it to him. He held her
against him while she half lay on the sofa. His shirt was off and
her gown still open, his palm massaging her breast.

“I didn’t think I could still….that I
could...” He sighed and pressed his lips against her hair before
managing quietly, “You’ve taught me much about intimacies, for a
virgin.”

She smiled. “You’ve certainly enlightened me,
Captain.”

His fingers flexed over her breast, and he
nudged her up. Caroline faced him, finding his expression
fascinating.

“How long can you stay?”

“I should have left already. But... an hour
more, no longer. I’ve….somewhere I must be tonight.” She reached
tentatively up and removed his glasses a moment. “I knew they’d be
beautiful.”

He smiled but took the glasses and put them
back on.

“They’re golden.”

His thumb was rubbing across her nipple. “I
wish I could see yours. See your curls all mussed and your face
flushed.”

“How do you know—“

He laughed with a flash of strong white
teeth, “I know.”

Her hand had dropped to his chest and while
petting there, she whispered, “I didn’t know I could feel what I do
when you kiss and touch me. I didn’t know I could…feel, what
happened just a while ago.”

“Neither did I. Bluntly speaking, I’ve spent
myself on a female or two, but never felt the compulsion to do more
than that. I’ve been called selfish and cold.”

Fascinated by that, unable to imagine it
because he kissed and touched her so very pleasingly, Caroline
returned, “I’m glad it is me, you want… more with.”

“I’m glad it is too.” His hands cupped her
face. “I could kiss and taste, touch you, for hours. I love your
scent, your sexual scent too. I liked the way you made those sounds
and your body trembled with pleasure.”

She felt her body stirring again. “It’s
like…being famished, isn’t it? You hunger for it beyond anything
else.”

“Yes. With you, it is.” He leaned and kissed
her, kissing her long and sensual. When she was breathless, he
parted and murmured in her ear, “Shall we see what pleasure there
is to be had in an hour?”

“Yes. Oh yes.” She kissed his jaw, his neck,
laving his skin. Caroline could stay with him forever, but knowing
she did not have it, made her want him all the more.

“Mmmm.” He put his legs on the sofa and
hauled her to lie atop him, his hands under the skirt of her
hopelessly wrinkled gown. Cupping her pert backside, he invited
huskily, “Touch me…feel me…”

Caroline shivered, feeling a surge of
feminine arousal and power. She took full advantage of that
invitation, rubbing, molding, kissing, and mapping his torso with
hands, fingers, lips, and tongue.

At his lower stomach, she bit him lightly and
heard his groan. Before it was all said and done, she made him
groan louder. Gone beyond girlish fancies of being worshipped and
now knowing whatever she thought of (marriage,) it was not this
part, this intimacy, with a man. She went plunging willingly into
the adult world of attraction, erotic hunger and feminine need.
Caroline found that the deeper she plunged into it, the more carnal
she felt.

He treated her as a woman, always had, just a
woman, and it freed her in some sense. It unleashed a side of
herself she might never have discovered. This had nothing to do
with lady-like, and everything to do with primal pleasures. His
body was sculpted, hard muscled and perfect with masculine
potency.

She spent time, learning his taste, feeling
the supple crown of his sex with her lips, and experiencing an
incredible sense of wonder as he told her exactly what it felt like
to him, and how she—only she—made him feel, whole.

All inhibitions fell away from both of
them.

Blaise repaid her attentions tenfold—turning
her into a wild creature, even making her beg just a little. He
turned the proper, biddable Lady that the ton considered faultless,
into a woman who threw her head back, spread her silken legs for
him, and held his mouth to her, circling and raising her hips to
get everything he offered.

Caroline climaxed the second time with a low
groan in her throat, a woman’s knowledge that it was a pleasure not
to be missed—and the man who brought her there, smiling a sexy,
rather cocky, white smile, at the end.

Caroline basked in the afterwards, too.

There was power in sexual womanhood, but
there was also glory in surrendering to the skill and hungers of a
man too.

He laved his sensual lips and murmured
deeply, “Now that, I’d risk death, fight a war blind for.” His hand
was tangled in her damp hair, wildly mussed, and the other going
over her flushed, shapely, curves. “You’re not only a beautiful
creature on the outside, you’ve an untamed and wondrous spirit in
there that took me places, I’ve never been.”

Oh, that pleased her beyond anything.
Caroline smiled and sighed, whoever would have thought it!

Still holding her tangled hair, he kissed her
throat and dragged his tongue down it, shuddered, groaned in a
masculine purr, “I could eat you up. In fact, I think I will, one
more time….”

And he did.

* * * *

It had been a wretched morning.

Jules missed the drop off at the park, thanks
to oversleeping for the first time in his life. He took his ride,
then went to his club and attempted to read the papers—mostly still
filled with speculation about the fires, which had destroyed only
Stratton’s ship and house and outrage as to the content of the
flyers about Stratton’s doings, which were reprinted word for word.
Scandals abound and denials too, given that there were important
names tied to illegal activities. Still, Jules simply wanted to
have his coffee and cheroot, and get his bloody life back.

One of the waiters delivered a note to him on
a tray with his coffee. Preoccupied, Julian opened it and scanned
the explicit drawing of himself and a faceless male, before wadding
it up and shoving it in his jacket pocket. It was a warning. He
understood that. Furious, his stomach tight, nerves raw, his gaze
was more frigid than ever leaving the club and heading
homeward—where there was a note from his Grace, Duke of Coulborne
awaiting him.

He read the summons, the suggestion he escort
Lady Caroline that night, and saw the brilliance of it. For all he
felt his own life on the edge of ruin, the perfect distraction for
society would be to speculate on himself and Lady Caroline. Despite
his haughty character, (in his mind, a point of pride because loss
of control equaled messy—the blackmail was clear evidence of that)
many insinuated with smiles or winks, that they would make the
perfect match, since Caroline was the epitome of a well-bred
English deb.

Jules understood Bordwyc’s unspoken message
too. Not only would Caroline have a reliable escort whilst his
Grace was from town, it was the Duke’s way of telling Jules he
would approve, whenever Jules got around to the formalities of
asking for her.

At least something in his life was on
track.

Jules had to double his efforts to keep it
that way, thanks to Raith’s actions, and his father’s
preoccupation. He fully understood that Lady Caroline would have to
do the same.

Although he was sure that young lady was
likely shocked by her father’s affair, and having such a woman,
even if she was a half-sister, in her house. All that he had
observed about Caroline Bordwyc was that of a typical gently bred
woman, a darling of society, and favorite at court. Admirable, by
anyone’s standards. He had no clue what her father actually told
her, and still had not gotten the full story of the woman’s
involvement in Raith’s life either.

At home, Jules let the valet do his magic,
his green eyes this time in the mirror, trying to look back through
time and figure out who the bloody hell he would have made that
scandalous mistake with. The drawing was a bold move, a clear
threat, and one that made Jules’s blood run cold. It made his teeth
grind too, that he had no defense, no clear memory to challenge it
with. It went against everything in him to submit to this threat,
however.

One thing he could do well was perform his
role in society. so after a final brush of invisible lint from his
shoulders, a comb through his straight raven hair, and a nod to the
valet—who had him in formal black and white, perfect snowy cravat,
and high polished boots—Jules pulled on white gloves fetched his
cape, and summoned his coach.

Looking out the window, on the ride, he
decided he would check on Raith before going home after the
assembly. His father had gone every day, and he indicated that now
lucid, Raith was resisting the idea of leaving London. Not bloody
wise, considering they’d found contraband in his house. It so
frightened Artis, that the Duke had his own servants move it to
some mysterious location. He had dismissed his son’s staff, and
locked up the house.

Jules’s smiled slightly, having seen a
different Duke of Eastland lately. If Raith thought his father was
going to retreat or give up on him, he was sadly mistaken. Artis
was determined that if not the country, then Raith would be under
his roof in town. It was not as if Raith could run off. He was
virtually immobile with all the plaster and splints.

In thinking of seeing him, Jules also thought
of Harriet, which he had done too much of lately. She was true as
her word, excellent apparently, with a more than difficult patient
on her hands, and discreet on every front.

He still did not know what she had been up to
that had taken her to Stratton’s that night. He found himself
musing on their—exchange—more often than he was comfortable with.
He had enough on his plate without adding his intrigue with Harry.
So long as he stayed on course, everything would right itself.