Passion (34 page)

“I’ve a lovely little cottage…”

He laughed. “No. At my estate.”

“Very well.”

Because she conceded, and he knew how hard it
was going to be for either of them to learn to accede to the wishes
of the other, Jules turned her to her stomach and covered her,
kissing her nape, biting it, before he murmured, lifting her hips
up to rub against his sex… “I’ll reward you for acceding to my
wishes, since you are intelligent enough to know your own mind, I
know ‘tis because it’s something I desire, and something my title
demands.”

Because he was filling her with his flesh,
Harry moaned, “Does that mean I get anything I want?”

“Yes.”

She got to her knees, groaning through his
first thrusts before arching her neck and panting, “I want your
children, Jules. I want to hold your babies…and I want romp and
play and…”

Oh, Christ. Jules lost it, driving into her,
losing himself in the fantasy and in the promise that the future
could be better than the past. That love—would make it
possible.

One year later.

Gabriella stood by his Grace, Duke of
Coulborn’s, grave. He had passed two days earlier and been buried
at his estate an hour ago.

She felt the fall breeze, welcomed it, on her
skin and against her veil. She could hear babies fretting and knew
that Harry, now Duchess of Coulborne and Lady Caroline, had their
hands full with their heir sons. Guests had filled the Duke’s house
and visitors came the past two weeks, thus few of them had any
sleep or rest.

She had arrived whilst the Duke was sick,
with her father, to try to help whilst Coulborne and his sons put
everything in order. Artis wanted his wishes carried out, and he
wanted to leave something to his grandchildren and any future
children. She would never forget her private meeting with him. He
had had a maid bring her to him in the dead of night, and sitting
on the bedside in her robe, holding his hand, she had known what
his “Thank you,” was for. He had likely seen the note that she had
written to Raith—and known the one that drew him to London was in
her hand.

She had simply kissed his hand and smiled at
him, knowing in her heart of hearts that he understood the why, and
no words were needed to explain the joy he’d felt in bringing his
family together, healing old wounds, and righting what wrongs he
could.

Raith had arrived for the funeral, having
returned from Spain in the dead of night. She scarcely saw him,
being busy trying to assist Caroline and Harry, and make herself
useful to the staff.

In the past year, whilst the married couples
honeymooned, made their heirs, and started their lives, she had
traveled some with her father. David had met a young widow in
Bristol who had turned his head. Mari was obviously enthralled by
the Duke too, and though ten years his junior, she fell headlong
for him. She was attractive, dark hair, dark eyes, and though only
minor titles were in her bloodlines, she had a loving, giving, and
open nature, that Gabriella knew her father would bask in.

The night before Artis died, his sons stayed
with him every hour. Gabriella, knowing more of their history now,
could only feel it a blessing—right—that they had healed and been
together with him those final hours. Who knows what would have
become of them, what lives of regret and mistakes would have come,
had they not.

Rain scented the air. She turned away, noting
that everyone was far ahead, on their way back to the estate house.
All save Raith, who stood awaiting her.

As she walked to meet him, Gabriella noted
the changes she had not been able to since he arrived. His hair was
silver now, slightly longer. It enhanced his dark eyes, the swarth
of his skin, and seemed to soften some of the bitter lines of his
face—as much as that peace in his eyes did. She knew instinctively
that he had enjoyed his time in Spain. She was glad he did not
write. It was difficult though, being without him.

His coat flapped in the breeze. He reached
for her black gloved hand, tucking it in his arm as they walked
back.

He did not speak until they almost reached
the house. By then a light rain had started.

“Do you know what he asked me?”

She glanced at him.

He smiled slightly. “He wanted to know if my
mother loved him.”

Gabriella sighed.

Raith murmured, “She did. She does still. She
will always love him.”

“How are you sisters?”

“Quiet.” He laughed. “Convent bred—and very
quiet. However, uncle is not. My mother’s husband is a sober
man.”

They reached the house. She excused herself.
Servants were either serving food or seeing guests off. She slipped
to her rooms and removed the veil, and braided her hair around her
head. Smoothing the black dress, Gabriella left her chambers
intending to go below—but encountered Raith on the landing.

He instead led her to the left, back to a
garden room with French doors that were open to the rain. A fire
burned although it was not cold at all.

Raith lit a cheroot and there was coffee
there, obviously ordered by him.

She poured one and sat on the arm of a chair,
half watching him, half watching the rain.

“He made me a rich man.”

“That’s not surprising.”

He glanced at her. “And children…heirs.”

She nodded and sipped.

His dark eyes watched that motion, then met
and held her own. “I ached for you, every day.”

Scuttling a breath, she managed, “I
thought…”

“Yes. Me too. You are beautiful. You will
turn heads when your hair is as silver as mine. I didn’t write,
didn’t say, wait for me, but I hoped.”

Gabriella set the cup down, standing as he
tossed the cheroot.

Raith turned and looked over her, head to
toe, before he husked, “I love you more now, than I did
before.”

He admitted, “The morning after I arrived, I
saw you standing out back in the garden—the first time in a year
and I felt my legs shaking…”

“Raith...”

He walked to her and took her hands.

She tilted up her chin, looking into his
eyes.

“Say something.”

She wet her lips. “I love you. I waited for
you. I would have, for as long as it took.”

He bent his head and kissed her, a soft one
at first, renewal, re-tasting, and conformation. The next was
deeper and more passionate.

Holding her back from him, he husked, “I
asked your father, a year ago. I told him I loved you, and I
promised him I would make you happy. He said he would not consent
unless you loved me. Unless being with me, would make you
happy.”

“It would. He will.” She laughed breathlessly
and then touched his face. “When?”

“As soon as is decent.”

“Of course.”

“Unless... you want a quiet one, here? I have
a license.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve had it...a long time.”

She gazed at him. “I can’t believe you’ll be
my husband. I’ve loved you….”

He murmured, “We’ll marry here then. At
week’s end. I’ll have Jules and Blaise help arrange it.”

Gabriella nodded.

“I’ll speak to your father this evening.”

“All right.”

Raith reached in his coat pocket and took out
a ring. Reaching for her hand, he put it on the finger next to the
one she wore of her mother’s.

“It’s lovely.”

“It was my mothers. Passed down, she said.”
His thumb brushed over the pearls. “We’ll go to Cornwall
afterwards…”

“Yes. Wherever you like.”

He gathered her and they kissed, passionate,
and long, locked together, and caught up in the soft waft of
breath, smooth and supple lips. The sensations they made each other
feel. They scarcely noticed the pouring rain outside.

Too stirred to join the others, they
eventually sat on the sofa. He slumped comfortably, holding her
hand and sipping coffee, Gabriella with her head on his shoulder,
stocking feet tucked under the hem of her gown.

With his head back, he murmured, “I dreamed
of you.”

“Me too.” She lifted her head and glanced at
him. “I had several.”

His lips curved and his half-mast eyes
scanned her face. “In my dreams, you wore this shawl of bright
colors, silver and gold thread, and you danced…”

“I shall. I remember how…”

He lifted his hand, brushing her cheek with
the back of it. “And I made love to you, slow, exquisite, and so
real I would ache for days.”

Mesmerized she whispered, “I dreamed that
too.”

Raith cupped her cheek, half-sitting as she
met him for an arousing kiss.

The door clicked and opened.

Gabriella parted from him to look at her
father who stood there.

He smiled and glanced at Raith who came to
his feet but kept his profile to him, buttoning the hip length
jacket he wore.

Bordwyc supplied dryly, “This answers any
questions I had.”

Taking her hand Raith returned, “We’d like to
wed by week’s end.”

“Yes, you’d better.” The Duke laughed and
stepped back to leave. “I’ll see to things and arrange for my man
of business to have all in order…”

“What things…”

The Duke looked at his daughter surprised.
“Your marriage settlement. Rather large it is, aside from an income
for the rest of your life. And there are a few other details.”

“I don’t need it,” Raith cut in.

“No. well, your children may, and you can
keep it in Gabriella’s name. Doesn’t matter.”

When he had gone Gabriella said, “I had no
idea.”

Raith smiled a bit. “I’m not really
surprised.” He kissed her once more and they gathered themselves to
leave, he, spending the evening with his brothers, and Ry, who was
Godfather to the heirs.

For Raith, the end of the week could not come
soon enough, although it was still busy at the house. They followed
Artis’s wishes and had most of the dark furnishings sent to charity
as well as most traces of the Duchess. Artis had made Jules promise
to refurbish it completely. Jules promised he would.

Raith took some ribbing from his brothers,
but handled it rather well. He managed a smile for Lady Harry, and
Caroline, when they passed by him or were at dinner, knowing they
were helping Gabriella with the wedding. He gathered Caroline and
Gabriella had their own special bond.

It was a quiet wedding, save for the fretting
babies. Straightforward, no frills with fall hues coloring the
windows and solemn vows spoken by the hearth fire.

Raith felt his legs nearly buckle at first
sight of his bride—walking into the front parlor in her long satin
and lace gown. Her raven and burgundy hair flowed down her back and
other than pearl earrings, she wore only small buds among the
flowing locks.

The ring he gave her was a band matching the
pearl one. Nothing registered save the surreal feeling that she was
his; his wife, lover, and a woman he knew would always understand
and know him. If she could love him after their past, he was
certain she truly loved him, and the way he loved her, and said so
toasting with champagne, left him breathless with good fortune.

The babies demanded his brother and their
wives attention after the wedding supper. He let Gabriella say her
adieu to her father in private. The man was leaving the next
day.

Finally, though still daylight, they were in
apartments secretly prepared for them, on the behest of Harry and
Caroline. A suite with a white marbled fireplace crackling with
fire, and green and white upholstery in the sitting room, the
bedchambers, visible from the slid back pocket doors, were done in
warm fall hues and the scents of that season wafted in the air.

Having removed his jacket and cravat Raith
was in shirtsleeves and trousers when Gabriella emerged from the
bathing chambers.

She wore a calf length robe in white silk,
open to show a lace nightgown, sheer and delicate. Her hair looked
rich against it and against her dusky skin.

Walking to the doorway, light from the fall
day and the fire glinted on her figure. She turned just at the
bedroom and let the robe slide from her fingers.

He set his brandy down rather blindly,
walking toward her, his eyes devouring the way the lace clung to
her full breasts, the dusky nipples peeking through, breathless at
how it enhanced her full hips.

Raith paused, undoing buttons on his shirt,
but she took over and had it off him much faster. He followed until
she sat on the side of the bed, and he in a chair removing his
boots. Standing again, whilst his bride got to her knees on the
bed, easing the straps off her shoulders, so that the gown fell,
clinging only at her hips. Her breasts and torso gleamed with some
sort of light fragrant oil. She pushed her hair back behind her
shoulders causing glints of light to enhance her already smooth
skin.

He undid his trousers, stripping completely,
watching her eyes devour him, observing her pleasure as her gaze
moved over him. Gabriella moved to the edge of the bed, legs under
her, knees wide and that lace caught low on her hips, high enough
so that he saw a hint of her black curls.

Her hands skimmed until she held his own hips
at the side, her eyes looking up as he gazed down.

“Give me sweet another day,” she begged in a
husky whisper, “I need you. I want you.”

His control snapped even before she dipped
her head and rimmed his sex with her mouth. Hands in her hair, he
never formed that protest although he grasped her hair, intending
too. She knew, they both did, from their visiting all those houses
of pleasure. She had paid close attention. She took him apart and
Raith hardly knew himself, so consumed by a haze of lust, yet
humble love too, at her giving. Quickly the fire sizzled through
him. He climaxed so intense his head swam.

After some recovering, Raith praised her lack
of inhibitions. The light outside, firelight and lamps shone as he
aggressively laved her to climax. Then he was behind her, driving
deep into her, holding those lush hips, watching her shapely
backside as she pushed back against him.