Passion (5 page)

Raith’s black sleeved arm lay along her
shoulders, the other hand on his thigh as they began their tool
through the park—timing it on purpose to be seen. The pretense of
having eyes only for each other, for him to lean and whisper in her
ear, and she to tug his lapel, to smooth her hand down his chest,
began also.

In the well-rehearsed actions, she stole a
few seconds for herself, her private self, to look at him in
earnest, to note in the light of an ordinary day, the fierceness of
his face and pitch black of his eyes—that unyielding and sharp
carved bone. The sinew of his visage was compelling. Thick sooty
lashes lined those dark eyes, and his nose had a natural flare, his
mouth, most times, set in almost cruel lines, she discerned, if
softened could be sensual.

She was helplessly drawn to the darkness in
him. However, Gabriella thought herself a skilled enough actress to
cover her physical reaction to him behind their roles. She slipped
today when she let her fingers graze his jaw. He captured her hand
and brought it down, his hold crushing, his eyes like black
glass.

Instead of wincing, she turned her head,
gazing around as if just noting a world beyond the two of them for
the first time. She pulled her hand free whilst noting a few looks
of outrage from society matrons, as well as whispering done, and
those on horseback, riding or those walking, were gawking too.

Gaining the effect he wanted, she dipped her
lashes and gathered herself, before turning to regard him again.
This time she leaned down to say something and smiled—fully masked
in the role of Tara, his mistress.

The buggy pulled aside. Raith exited, holding
the door for her to do likewise. He was seven inches taller than
herself, a leanly muscled man, who was wearing all black with a
thigh length jacket. When the door of the buggy closed, his body
forced hers against it. What looked like the intimate act of
cupping her jaw was in actuality a hold that forced her to look at
him, to see the lash of coldness in his gaze.

He lowered his head and rasped, “If you
forget your role again, it is finished. I will do the deed
myself.”

She did not get to answer. Her stomach
dropped though, from her slip. He placed his mouth scarcely on her
salved lips for the seconds it would take to appear more, and then
released her. Laving her lips, her heart beating too wild, she
strolled then with him, that arm across her spine.

Gabriella went into character as much to show
him she understood, as to get her mind back on the goal. Her mouth
tingled and her blood pounded, but she said and did all the right
things, occasionally looking about and lowering her lids half-mast,
smiling and then dismissing most of the well dressed in the haughty
manner she perfected.

Their prey entered the park as if on cue. She
did not miss a beat and felt his eyes bore into her as he passed by
on his blooded stallion. She could almost tell the moment he
stopped and turned, and felt his eyes on them.

“Take a seat at that bench ahead.”

“Yes, all right.” She breathed a sigh of
relief and sat gracefully on the bench, the parasol leaned against
her knee, having felt the tightness, the tension in her body at
seeing Stratton. Bitterness washed up in her throat. Rage, made her
tremble.

Raith, standing by her as if casually
flirting with his lover, murmured, “If you cannot gather your wits
when he is at such distance, you are not ready to seduce him into
the trap.”

Casting what she knew by practice was an
adoring glance up at Raith, she replied, “I will be fine. I can do
this. ‘Tis simply that I remembered the feel of those eyes, and the
feel of his lust even before I was of age to—“

“Enough. He is approaching.” Raith reached
out and toyed with the brim of her hat, his dark eyes holding hers.
“Play your role well.”

Gabriella lifted a hand and took his,
brushing it with her lips on a breathless laugh. Her eyes shifted
at the sound of hooves and she knew Raith turned to eye Stratton,
who was staring at her, tilting his hat in greeting.

She arched her brow, gave a subtle nod,
feeling Raith lay a possessive hand on her shoulder, relaying a
message—which they both knew would be a challenge to the older
man.

Once he had passed, Raith took her back to
the carriage.

They proceeded on to the shopping district,
three times encountering Stratton because Raith knew his habits,
and each time those dark blue eyes raked her, no matter how polite
the tilt of his head seemed, his smile, meant to be charming—was
like a serpent to Gabriella. She could see his mind
calculating.

In the evening, they returned home. She
stripped and sat for a private moment with her Turkish coffee
before preparing for the theater. Gabriella sipped and stared
sightless at the open window while she rehearsed what she would say
to Stratton. He was a ruthless, impatient man, who got what he
wanted by any means. It would take all her instincts to outsmart
the devil.

She must forget this attraction to Raith,
being so bound to him in many complex ways, yet—everything they had
planned, the whole reason she survived was here, the fruits of
their unspoken contract, and that mutual pact of revenge.

Stratton was more ruthless, than years ago.
He had gotten away with much more than the abuse and murder that
brought him into their lives. He was guarded by cutthroats, thugs,
who were well rewarded at his brothels and from goods stolen from
the docks. The only way to destroy him—was from the inside. The
only way either one of them would ever be satisfied, was making
that revenge intimate, tasting it, feeling, living it.

She heard the door open.

The maid entered. Gabriella smiled at her.
The servants adhered to Raith’s strict rules and tread carefully in
the house. They were intimidated by their aloof and strict master.
As much as she sympathized, there was good reason to keep that
distance and allow no attachments.

An hour later, she dressed in an off the
shoulder gown of ivory, the wide neckline provocatively low. Her
hair was upswept, with several fat curls dangling, and a crownlet
of diamonds graced it, matching the earrings she wore. Her gloves
were ivory lace over satin, and her shoes ivory silk with diamond
bows. The cape the maid latched at the throat shimmered in ivory
and gold embroidered flowers.

Below stairs, she faced a formally dressed
Raith, his image that of an aristocrat save the neck-cloth he wore
was deep burgundy, and his coat was not tailed, but a longer,
richer one, of black silk and velvet. It reached to his ankles and
emphasized his height.

They took the coach and exited amid a crush,
Gabriella, aware that his gaze moved as hers did, searching out
their prey. It was not until the first act that Stratton showed up
in his box. He was wearing dove gray with a sapphire neck-cloth, a
good-sized jewel in the center, and rings on his thick fingers. She
saw all the tale tale signs of a man displaying his assets, showing
off his wealth. He was in the company of a male with angelic looks,
and pale eyes, who wore all white.

“His brother in law,” Raith informed with
what she detected was a sneer. “The young female he attempted to
introduce as his bride in society did not achieve whatever he
thought to accomplish. She speaks no English, or so it is assumed,
although I gather it was the contrast in their ages that put off
those he wished to impress.”

Behind her fan, she asked, “Will he make his
move with you present?”

“He would, though I plan to excuse myself in
the next act—and when he approaches you, and he will, I do not have
to remind you that everything hinges on your reception of him.”

“No,” she murmured.

For the remainder of the act, she felt that
depraved stare from Stratton like a touch, thick with lust,
saturated with what was likely a revolting fantasy in his vile
mind.

The moment came too soon for facing him.

Gabriella nearly missed the second Raith
stood and leaned down to speak to her, for she was fighting panic
and the roll of her stomach. She nodded, smiled, and observed his
departure from his box. Her palms grew damp, her breathing required
concentration to control. Seconds ticked off in her mind. The
crowds shifted, voices and laugher rose. The fan she employed gave
her something to grip to keep her hand from shaking. Turning her
head, she noted that Stratton’s box was empty.

Gabriella stood with her hand on the back of
the chair as if simply eyeing those below, but in reality not
wishing to be seated and have to stare up at him.

He entered, seeming larger than his already
robust figure, a man who, not knowing his history, his monstrous
cruelty, one might take for a polished and wealthy lord. His face
lacked the refined lines, but it was handsome for his age. His
clothing was of the finest cloth.

“Madame,” he began with a full smile,
“Forgive my intrusion, but I have been enthralled, enchanted by
your beauty, from the moment I spied you in the park.” He bowed.
“You look all the more entrancing tonight. I must know your
name?”

She nodded regally and supplied in sultry
tones, accented with just enough flavor, “Tara. And yours…”

“Stratton, Marcus Stratton.” He came a step
closer, more than was needed to converse. His eyes raked her,
lingering on her breasts, before he raised them. “You would render
a lesser man speechless.”

Aware of the message in that, she husked,
“The man I allow in my life has little use for talk.” That was all
too true, but the double meaning was there.

He laughed, and though she kept her gaze on
his, Gabriella felt his hand land near hers on the chair back. She
hated looking up at him. Her skin crawled as his fingers subtly
caressed hers.

He offered in what was doubtless his most
seductive drawl, “I am sure you keep him quite pleasantly
occupied.”

“Yes. He is quite a
demanding….companion.”

“I am confident it is your beauty that
enslaves him.”

His hand nearly covered hers. His eyes bore
deeply. “I doubt, however, that he can reward you as handsomely as
I. I am convinced, lovely Tara, that you are fated to be worshiped
and adored by a man who can indulge you beyond your dreams.”

With degradation and murder, she supplied
mentally whilst smiling. “Lord Montovon is a most generous man. It
would take much to lure me away from one I have grown so fond
of.”

His smile faltered. For a second his eyes
darkened. However, he caught himself and uttered with relish, “I am
surprised at that, m’dear. I have just this day discovered his less
than impressive fortune and background. He is the younger son and
has only a small entailment of his own. It does not appear from the
rumors, that your…protector, has any ties at all with his
illustrious family, and is in fact, estranged.”

His fingers lifted to touch the diamond in
her ear. “These pretty bobbles are doubtless paste.”

She feigned an interest in his tidbit.
“Interesting. I rather enjoyed the mystery of not knowing
everything about him. But then, I have only just met you, Sir, and
have only your teasing hints as to your more—favorable comparison.
Are you a peer, perhaps?”

“I am a cut above a peer, for most are so
empty of pocket they have me to thank, they are able to keep up
appearances. In short, I am a merchant—much more though, I assure
you. You will be hard pressed to find a man, of any rank, who can
match my power and fortune.”

Moving her hand, she rubbed below her bottom
lip with her nail, giving him a sultry smile before purring,
“Indeed. Well, I shall contemplate that, certainly. Nevertheless, I
fear you must leave. My companion has only stepped out for a
cheroot. He can be quite… ruthless, when protecting
his…interests.”

He took her hand, kissed it, and before
leaving murmured, “I would show you what a coward most men are. To
you, I offer the world, lovely Tara….”

She sighed dramatically and replied, “It is
tempting, but I cannot let you go with any false encouragement on
my part. You see, ‘tis a rather delicate subject to broach with a
complete stranger…"

Her lashes blinked. She laved her lips. “But
I too have certain…requirements in my lovers. His lordship is most
accommodating. We have, shall we say, a mutually gratifying…er
inclination.”

The look, the raking hot stare, was almost
animalistic. His smile turned feral. Her nose could smell the heat
that dewed his skin. That sickening scent she recalled all too well
when he’d fondled her out of her mother’s presence.

Stratton’s voice vibrated, “I place no limits
on pleasure. No taboos hinder me. I have the advantage, I promise
you, and the experience, to provide whatever pleases you, in any
way. I think you will find that my passions run quite parallel to
your own.”

“But I have not confided them yet.” She raked
her teeth over her lip and pretended to look around before leaning
toward him and uttering, “Perhaps we can arrange a meeting….a
sampling of your generosity and—open mindedness. This weekend
perchance. He will not miss me for a few hours on Saturday.”

“Yes. Yes.” Sounding breathless, Stratton’s
eyes pulled from her lips to meet her own. “Saturday.”

“I shall take a hack—to where?”

He gave her an address she knew
perfectly.

Pretending coyness she gasped, “Surely a man
of your standing has a wife?”

“For appearances only, my dear.” He chuckled.
“She is …er... holidaying. But were she not, never mistake that I
rule my own castle.”

Stepping back from him, she made her posture
and eyes seem animated, vibrating with eagerness. “I don’t doubt
it, Sir. However, can you submit to another’s? It takes a man of
great confidence, to be able to experience the darker side of
himself—and to feel the sweet, arousing, agony of pleasure.” Her
laugh rolled husky and deep.