Passion's Joy (50 page)

After her long absence, she spent yesterday morning at Chester House where she saw the success of her programs. The last illness to sweep through Chester House cost no lives. The children also seemed happier, more alert, less apathetic. Later, she had afternoon tea with none other than the Duchess, that shrewd, irascible old lady who had neatly cut through Joy's defenses to

become her friend. Twice during the day, Joy had a queer impression of viewing herself as others saw her, and she saw a smiling, blushing, giggling young lady, bubbling over with joy and happiness, a happiness that certainly flowed over onto the children at Chester House, a happiness the Duchess had questioned repeatedly.

Yet how did one explain the happiness she felt? How did one explain what his love meant to her? Words were poor vessels indeed.

Despite Bart's objections, the dark road proved not to hinder their progress, and comfortably seated in the plush, maroon velvet seats, the dim light surrounding her became the backdrop of memories of their time together abroad. She owned a thousand memories now, each a precious treasure that she would guard until the day she died. The memories formed a swift moving stream of consciousness and she was lost.

The innocent pictures of Ram, their singing and laughter, long talks about everything and nothing, Ram playing with his son, all the things they saw and people they met soon gave way to a different kind of memory, erotic memories, memories of his kisses and touch, the ways he loved her and the ways she loved him. How he had loved her! Desire, starting from somewhere deep inside, rose in a blush, a tingling and—

Bart's curse and a hard crack of the whip jolted her from the very next unchaste thought and threw her from the seat as the carriage lurched forward with sudden speed. She fell to her knees, braced against the opposite seat. The footman, Ralph, shouted against the wind. Bart replied with another curse. Little Sean miraculously continued to sleep undisturbed; and after that quick assessment, Joy grabbed the side rail and braced against the jostle. The shutters went up. "Bart!" she called against the wind. "What's happened?"

"Robbers! Comin' from behind! I told ye—"

Robbers! Again! Was the rest of the world nothing but thieves? "Faster! Faster!" She panicked.

It was her fault, the whole thing, for she had made Bart pass the inn to press through the night, despite his many reasonable objections. One footman had been ill, leaving her the protection of only two men. Carriage rides through the night were particularly dangerous in these times. Why she and Ram had met with robbers twice oh their trip abroad!

She should have known better!

She never thought of herself, only little Sean. A small, silver pistol emerged from her reticule. She pushed the bassinet against the side, and crouching in front of it, she aimed the pistol at the door. There would be no warning shots this time.

The carriage raced forward at a dizzying speed, yet the hoof beats grew closer and closer. Bart’s vicious curses sang in the night air. Tension froze her fingers on the trigger as Joy stopped breathing. The carriage abruptly slowed, then dipped slightly with added weight. She heard something— Ralph, the footman! Her mind screamed for someone to shoot—Ralph or Bart, someone—at the exact moment the latch came undone and the door opened with a cold burst of wind and—

"Ram!"

Relief flooded through her in force. She had come within a hairbreadth of shooting him. "Oh, Ram—"

Ram encountered the narrowed, determined eyes of a murderess, the steady aim of the pistol, coupled with her unorthodox position and he laughed. Geezus! This was not the first she appeared poised to kill him, and he dared to hope it was the last. He swung easily to the soft velvet cushion and shut the door. "Joy, love, is that any way to treat your loving husband?"

A hard rap of his knuckles sent the carriage moving forward again.

His hand came over the pistol. After gently prying her stiff fingers from the trigger, he placed the deadly weapon in the small traveling compartment beneath the seats. Once safe, he turned back to her. The small lantern was behind him, and shadows fell over his face.

"I almost shot you!" she informed him rather breathlessly.

This was not on his mind. "My God,” he reached for her, bringing her to sit on his lap. “How can you be more beautiful each and every time I see you?"

She ignored the hands as they sought the pins holding her hair up. "Ram," she repeated, noting the mischief in his gaze. "I almost shot you!"

"So I saw."

The long hair swung free, falling in a silken mass of tangles down her back. His hands combed through the tangles, smoothing the rich tresses down her back. Warm lips grazed her forehead before traveling to a sensitive spot behind her ear. "I’m thinking I deserve a reward for my trouble."

Small chills raced up her spine. "Trouble?" she questioned stupidly.

"Indeed, I worked long and hard through the night to finish my work, then raced Lance like a bullet to catch up with the carriage."

"Oh, I see," she said, though all she really saw was his skilled fingers on the gold buttons of her rose colored riding jacket. "Just what reward do you seek?"

"Why, what any would-be molester seeks." He chuckled as her jacket came off.

"Ah." She bit her lip, as if to contain her excitement. "Yet I am determined to resist any and all molesters."

"Oh? By all means, resist if you can." He drew her head to him for a kiss. Unlike his easy banter, his kiss, fueled by a fierce longing, hungrily devoured her. The soft lips yielded to his; there was no resistance.

Heat seemed to suddenly fill the small compartment. She flushed as he broke the kiss. The next light caress of his lips sent delicious little shivers through her. "Of course," he said, distractedly, "if I was truly bent on molestation, I'd have to finish with these clothes."

Her arms were around him, toying maddeningly with the curls at the nape of his neck."An ambitious task," she observed, content to passively witness these heroic efforts at the buttons of her blouse.

"Ah, but I am an ambitious man." He chuckled as he slipped her shirt open. To his delight, there was no corset beneath the chemise, making the whole business that much easier. Within minutes, he had revealed the beauty of her breasts. Work-calloused hands cupped the creamy white fullness, thumbs brushed the tips. She drew a sharp intake of breath as his hands worked with exquisite gentleness there, his pleasure rewarded by small gasps from moist and parted lips that sought, then found his.

The kiss deepened as he explored her lips and tongue, the delicious heights and hollows of her mouth. His hands caressed the mercifully small indentation of her waist, before slipping the buttons of her skirt free. A deft hand explored the beckoning contours of her abdomen and hips, dancing with a feather touch over her thighs, until she broke the kiss, and he heard her soft moan of anticipation.

The movement provided the delicious bud of a breast, which he provoked and teased as his hand slowly stroked the other. She felt an explosion of shivers. That ever-tightening pleasure grew, blossoming deep inside her and her hands sought the refuge of his body. The buttons of his shirt were torn apart, and then they were kissing again, reveling in the places where their disheveled

clothes allowed the heat of their skin to touch. His mouth molded to hers, his tongue played tantalizingly with hers as he fanned the sweet flames growing within.

With a low groan, he lifted her over his flank to fit her to him with a long and hard kiss. She clung desperately, washed in the hot sensations of the pleasure. The jostle of the carriage heightened her ecstasy, and she was mindless, crying, soaring toward the bliss of the oh-so-physical aspect of love, until—

The carriage hit a hole and bounced, driving her harder onto his unyielding manhood, and in all eternity, she could not be any closer to him. She heard his warm chuckle; yet he held her to him, and with gathering motion, they soared toward a shared and wondrous bliss...

Joy woke maybe an hour later to find herself cradled in his arms much as she might hold little Sean. She was warm, his silk-lined cloak covering them as a blanket, while his body shielded and braced her from the movement of the carriage. Yet he had a troubled gaze. "What's wrong?" she asked in a soft whisper, as a small hand reached to his face to erase the inexplicable pain there. "What troubles you so?"

What troubled him? He was living on the razor's edge again; it seemed his destiny. In order to savor her love today, he had to deny the future, which he somehow managed to do much of the time. Yet there were times like tonight, after loving her like that, holding her close as she slept, that the future not only came to him, but it rushed at him. Like some dark and terrible monster, it was a horror, which he, with all his strength and will, was helpless to stop.

He was afraid as he never had been before. "I love you," he said simply. "I love you so much that—" He kissed her softly, sensuously, but then withdrew with the knowledge. He had known the first night he felt her love again that to love her once was to want her more. His love for her was like some wondrous winged creature ever seeking higher and higher skies. "Will you always know that, my love? That no matter what happens, I love you."

His words were a warm caress, but one shielding pain or fear or both, she didn't know. The unspoken question still sat between them. No matter how she tried to ask it, he resisted answering. She wondered if she would ever know.

She had always thought happiness was but fleeting moments life served up, moments one grasped, but could only hold in memories. Could it be that he, too, was afraid of their happiness? For it was different; their happiness was made from a continuous and consuming expression of

love, moments knit so tightly together there was nothing in between but joy and happiness. Was he too afraid of waking from this dream? Was his pain about that? Or, was it something else?

"I love you too," she finally said.

"You will always know I love you,” he repeated. “Yes,” she whispered. “Always and forever…” If only that were enough…

* * * * *

Little Sean did not want to sit in his chair, not when the tablecloth made the table into a tent.

The trouble was he was hungry and the food sat on top of the table.

His mother seemed unusually happy this morning, but this, he knew, could be misleading. As soon as her back turned, he grabbed a handful of eggs, giggled with his mischief and shimmied down from the chair, scrambling quickly under the table. Rake whimpered and poked his head under the table. Knowing sharing was a very good thing, Sean offered Rake a generous handful of his breakfast eggs.

Joy turned back around to see the abandoned chair. She smiled, knowing this game. "Where's Seanessy? Where's Seanessy? She ignored the excited giggle that was his reply. "Is he in the drawer?" She opened a drawer of the enormous chest, receiving more giggles in turn. "Is he behind the drapes?" She lifted the heavy drapes. "I know where he is!" Sean's suspense became unbearable, certainly uncontrollable. His mother's face popped through the tablecloth with a loud, "Boo!" He toppled to the floor with laughter.

Joy laughed with pleasure too, and knowing tents were the best place to share secrets, she brought the small plate of eggs and the cup of unusual, though ever so delicious, tea beneath the table. Obviously, thrilled, Sean began to devour the buttery eggs.

After finishing her tea, she leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tents are the best place for secrets. Would you like to hear my secret?"

Sean nodded enthusiastically, not sure what she said, but recognizing a promise of fun. "I'm going to have a baby!"

"Baby!" He pointed, "Me!"

Smiling, she shook her head. "You're not a baby. You're a little boy. And not so little at that," she said, lifting him into her arms. "I can't wait." She nuzzled his neck. "Let's go tell Mr. Cutler to send a note to your father in London. We can't wait any longer."

"Fa!" He nodded enthusiastically as they emerged from under the table.

Setting him to his feet, she took his hand and headed out of the nursery, down the hall to the great staircase. Even in the most subdued circumstances, the banister was rarely resisted, but filled with such happiness and excitement, and with no one about, she lifted Sean securely to her arms and assumed the improper position. Sean's cry of glee stopped half way as his mother's arms abruptly tightened. Joy gasped and stumbled onto the staircase, gripped with a sudden unnatural pain. Miraculously, she managed to set Sean to his feet just as she doubled over with it and felt the first warm, awful rush between her legs.

The strong bronze hand held the brass knob to her bed chambers steady for a long minute before turning it, opening the door to the future he had feared for so long. The peach colored drapes were drawn tight against a rare morning sun, bathing the bedchambers in a warm and soft light. The room was empty, save for the small figure in the four-poster bed, buried beneath a quilt. She had already turned away from him. She knew by now, knew everything. She knew he had ordered the tea to be given to her, the tea that washed her womb of his seed. Only one question remained between them, and that was why?

Without seeing, Joy knew it was Ram. His footsteps sounded soft on the thick rug, stopping at the bedside. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft labor of her breathing. Sometimes, if she remained very still, she didn't feel anything. Time lost meaning then, granting her a merciful suspension from its passing, until she awoke to the taste of her tears. Such quiet tears, she thought, such a quiet sadness, yet one unfathomable in its depths.

Ram's hand finally reached to touch her. "Joy—"

"No... don't touch me. Please." The whisper, like a surface wind rippling over the ocean depths, stopped him cold.

"Why Ram? I just don't understand why? When the surgeon told me it was the tea, and when Bertha said you told her to give it to me... I just can't understand, why? After Sean?"

He sat down on the bed. For a long moment, he just stared, resisting the need to touch and hold her, to comfort her as he searched for words that could explain. All he could think of was a question in return.