Passion (22 page)

His Grace’s butler showed Jules into
Coulborn’s study a bit later. Jules bowed to the Duke and then
greeted Lady Caroline, who stood by the windows.

Bordwyc arose from his chair and waved Jules
to one across from him. “Good of you to come, Stoneleigh.”

“Not at all, your Grace.” Jules nodded.

Elbows on the chair arms, the Duke steepled
his fingers. Those blue eyes looked pensive. “I hope I haven’t
presumed too much, but as I must leave town, at least for a bit and
Caroline has agreed that she must keep her schedule…”

“I would be pleased to put myself at her
disposal.” Jules knew all the right things to say. “And yours.
Whatever I may do to help.”

“Excellent. I do feel more confident and at
peace knowing Caroline will not be in this alone.” His look was
full of meaning. “Since the both of you have earned respect and
admiration, enjoyed such an excellent reputation in society, if I
may be so bold, it serves several ends, to have the two of you seen
together.”

“I understand perfectly. And agree.” Jules
nodded.

The Duke looked at Caroline, but Jules did
not. He watched the older man say, “Caroline is being very
understanding of my….situation. I am blessed with her.”

“Not at all, father. “ He heard Caroline’s
proper accents. “I would be enjoying the season in any event. And
of course, you must go and take Gabriella for a nice rest…in the
country.”

Jules almost smiled. Yes, Caroline knew all
the proper code too. It pleased him.

He heard her say, “It’s an honor to have the
Earl of Stoneleigh as escort. I’m sure we’ll get on famously.”

When the Duke smiled, he turned to Jules.
“There you are then. All is agreed.”

After a brief brandy, he wanted to ask the
Duke questions about his other daughter. He did not get a change
though, because a friend of the Duke’s stopped by and conversation
was halted on any personal score. Instead, the Duke explained for
the visitors sake, that he would be absent from town whilst he
attended some estate business. Too soon, it was time for Jules and
Lady Caroline to depart for the assembly.

* * * *

They arrived in the midst of a crush and
received the expected amount of looks, raised quizzing glasses and
nods of approval. Inside, there were receiving lines to navigate.
They did so famously, his having her hand on his arm, and the both
of them making all the proper efforts to attest he was indeed
escorting her.

He could almost hear the whispers over the
breakfast table the next morning. Certainly, the nods and smiles of
approval were abundant. It worked like expected, as it always would
when a wealthy peer and an heiress—thus far unattached, showed up
somewhere together.

Jules distantly noticed that Lady Caroline’s
color was high and her eyes sparkled, the hue matching the wispy
blue silk gown she wore, with long elbow-length white gloves. Her
hair was up in a riot of curls, held by a diamond band. Tiny
diamonds were in her ears and edging the fashionably, low-cut
gown.

He blamed his diverted state for the fact he
noticed she moved…differently, as if conscious of her body. Which
was an utterly ridiculous idea for a proper, virginal, heiress.
Nevertheless, he caught her smiling mysteriously several times,
preoccupied certainly. Though they moved around and spoke, nodded,
he had the distinct feeling she was as mentally/emotionally absent
from the gathering as he.

Dare he suggest, Lady Caroline was…
dreamy?

Things grew more peculiar as the night wore
on. Certainly more strained between them. Other than polite
conversation and inane observations, they spoke little.

At one point, after sipping champagne she
said to him, seemingly out of the blue, “I hope you don’t intend to
snub my friends, Stoneleigh. Because, I won’t take kindly to
it.”

Arching his jet brow, Jules blinked once and
drawled rather coolly, “I’m sure you’ll find I seldom bother
with…snubbing…my lady. I certainly don’t have time to censure who
you have tea with.”

“Good.” She sounded somewhat breathless.
“Because we both know there are flaws enough in our own families.
Too many, to go casting stones at others.”

At a loss, Jules assumed this was some
backlash from her father’s affair. He did say, “I highly doubt you
encounter anyone who is not acceptable to myself, or anyone else.
As to the other, I would advise you to forgo speculating on either
of our families in a crowded ballroom.”

He hoped he was mistaken when he heard her
breathe, “What an odious prig.”

However, when he murmured icily, “I beg your
pardon?”

She cocked a brow at him and smiled fake and
stiff, blinking her lashes annoyingly. “Nothing. I was simply
saying that I enjoy all sorts of friendships. Interesting ones.
Ones I choose myself.”

Still at a loss, Jules nodded curtly and
excused himself. He changed his champagne for brandy and drank half
down in the Duke’s study, managing to get through the night, even a
dance with Lady Caroline, without a misstep.

On his way to Harry’s later, to see Raith, he
assured himself again that both he and Caroline were expert at the
rules and appropriate behavior in society. All that was required
between them was a respect and formality. He put her odd statement
down to the strain of what each family was going through. It helped
if they could pretend to like each other—though nothing, ever,
should appear as vulgar as familiarity or affection, without a
formal announcement of the matrimonial kind.

He grunted at that and gazed out the coach
window. He certainly was an expert on that score. He knew all about
being cold and detached.

Jules exited his coach several blocks up and
walked the rest of the way. After a discreet knock, he entered Lady
Harriet’s abode, hearing her call from behind the cluttered tables,
and finding her sitting in a low chair by the fire, with a book in
her lap.

The tables and the towering shelves around
her, made her seem quite cozy in her Hodge podge nest.

He had noticed his brother’s cane at the
bottom of the stairs. “It seems you’re putting up with all of us
tonight,” he told Harriet.

“I’ve nothing against having men around.
Well, most men. That cousin of yours, the roguish one with the eye
patch…” She smiled wryly, “I particularly enjoy his attentions. He
gave me a pat on the bum for bringing him a glass of brandy.”

“Don’t tell me, you pat him back?”

“Actually I squeezed, but he enjoyed it all
the same.”

Jules grunted and eyed her bare feet on
another chair. “What in God’s name is that?” He motioned to her
feet.

“Henna. Do you like it?”

Eying the swirls and designs whilst he
laughed and removed his neck cloth and collar, he decided, “It
is…interesting.”

She grinned and turned a page, giving Jules
time to scan what she wore, a slinky chocolate brown thing, too
thin and low cut, to be a gown. He spied a bottle of brandy by her
chair.

He removed his jacket and put it on a nearby
stack of books, then picking her feet up, he sat himself down in
the chair facing her. Not really surprised when she plopped those
toes between his legs.

He helped himself to her brandy, drinking
from the bottle.

Watching her silently awhile, Jules murmured,
“What are you reading?”

“Erotica.” She glanced over the book.

He laughed short. “Are you never serious,
Harriet? I thought you bluestockings took pride in that.”

“Harry. Look around you, Stoneleigh, I have
read every single book in this place. In fact, my head is so
seriously stuffed with so many interesting things, I’m going to
solve all the problems of the world in my leisure time.”

“God help the world.”

Still caught by the “erotica” comment, he
took another long drink and observed the firelight play on her wavy
short hair and across the sheen on her upper chest.

“How is it?”

“This?” She tapped the book with her fingers.
“Ah, it’s Greek. So far, only the males are having any fun—but
that’s the Greeks for you.” She asked, “Shall I loan it to
you?”

“No—thank you.”

She tskd. “Not even erotica, Stoneleigh?”
followed a dramatic sigh. “You are a paragon.”

Jules could hear the low voices from above.
The soft light, the undemanding company, and the brandy he was
consuming should soothe him. He felt the heat from the fire almost
too much though.

He sat back, legs wide and relaxed, his
aquiline face half in shadow from a nearby stack of tombs. His
green eyes were half shielded by sooty lashes, nostrils flared at
the hint of feminine musk—that he knew was Harriet.

Wetting her lips, she rolled her head on the
curved chair back, the squat seat wide and of faded red brocade,
the feet made of curved arches. It looked old, comfortable,
something most people would toss out. It was hard to believe Lady
Harriet Brunswick’s fortune likely equaled his own. Her bohemian
lifestyle both irritated and fascinated him. Not pleasant either
way, that he should care.

Having sipped more brandy, Jules was aware of
her toes flexing between his knees. He watched her turn a page, and
then let her hand rest near her breast. When she rubbed it
absently, he went hard, inner thighs feeling the tightening of his
balls, and the swell of his cock against the soft black trousers,
he wore.

Lowering the book a moment, she leaned up,
her eyes meeting his. Harry took the bottle and drank, then handed
it back to him. The loose fold of the gown slid with a whisper of
silk when she sat back. It swaged down and open enough to show her
rosy nipple.

Jules met her gaze and held it, her one hand
on the book, propped slightly against her hip, the other with the
fingertip rubbing her areola.

Taking a longer drink, breaking the stare,
Jules barely got it swallowed. The fire light was amber and dark
from the reflection of flames sparkling over the shelves, her
lustrous gown, and in her eyes. He tried to stay aware of the
muffled voices above, but in truth, he was fascinated with Harry’s
expression, her leisurely erotic actions.

She read, or pretended to read another page,
and her white teeth raked her lower lip whilst doing so. When her
hand cupped her breast, her thumb brushing the hard nipple, it was
more than the brandy making his head light.

After a time, lowering the book, Harry let it
rest on her stomach a moment and being slumped in position, her
finger circled her nipple.

He watched it. She lowered her hand, and
skimmed it down her hip. Then, the material of her skirt was rising
as she eased it up, making it fall in a drape from her shapely
legs.

His fingers tightened on the bottle, his
other hand gripped the curved edge of the arm, his green eyes
traveling up those legs, beautiful and silken skinned.

Jules’s breath seized in his lungs
reflexively when she lifted her arched feet, and skimmed the sole
of them over his thighs. He saw lustrous curls over her sex, and
the dampness on them, before he watched her touch herself there,
those artistic feminine fingers reaching to part them.

Jules released that breath and blindly set
the bottle down. His body coiled. His nose filled with her perfume
mingled with sexual heat, brandy, and book dust. Unaware of doing
so, he touched her feet, his palms on her ankles moving them apart,
wider, so he could fully view what she was doing.

Harriet moved them and let them touch the
floor then set her book aside, her eyes glittering when they met
his. Her hands looked elegant. She repositioned and spread her legs
on either side of the chair, slightly leaned back, then opened the
lips and rubbed her clit until it was glistening and swollen. Her
sex was flushed and lovely. Her finger slid down. He watched her
sink it inside and glide it out several times.

His eyes flickered to her face, finding her
teeth holding her lip. Umm. She was enjoying herself.

Jules leaned forward, breathing in her musk,
laving his own lips without realizing it. Her inner thighs framed
the shape of her sex perfectly, the curls clipped and short, spread
now, leaving the lovely inner pedals exposed. When she had parted
them, ah, he saw the silk and shimmering essence that her finger
glided in.

For some time, the delicate tip of her middle
finger circled high on her clit, firming it and arousing it. When
she paused, Jules glanced at her. It only took the licking of her
lips, the lowering of her lashes, before he reached out, lightly
skimming his fingertips up her thigh, then finally giving her the
full length of his masculine finger. Heart pounding in his ribs,
blood hot, head floating in brandy and sexual pleasure, Jules
thrust it in and out leisurely, while she rubbed her clit. He gave
her two fingers when the juices were flowing like honey.

Massaging the walls of her inner sex with
them, warm and sleek, he could feel the ripples start, feel the
clamping she did with her muscles. Her legs quivered, her body
stiffened moments before her climax, along with soft and quick
pants came. He kept his fingers gliding in and out through the
ripples taking her.

Withdrawing when she slumped and sighed,
Jules sat back, his thumb rubbing those fingers he had had inside
her.

She straightened, heavy eyed, pushing pushed
her gown back down. Leaning to retrieve the bottle and take a sip,
she smiled sleepily at him and arched her brow.

Stoneleigh arched his own and saw the
challenge in hers.

He slowly sucked her scent from his fingers
and then teased a bit by lightly using those fingers and rubbing
the length of his sex with his palm over the crotch of his
trousers, his graceful frame slumped, and legs relaxed. At length,
he grinned and arose, then leaned over to kiss her on the tip of
the nose.