A Growing Passion (5 page)
On her knees, mindless of the damp earth, Victoria frowned and ran her fingers over the knobby growth on the stem. It was black and almost furry in texture, and she was admittedly perplexed. “You say all the usual treatments don’t work, Gibbons?”
The old man, who had served faithfully and loyally as the estate gardener for two decades, shook his head. “No, my lady, I’m afraid not. I’ve tried it all, even the clever spray you concocted that worked on the insect trouble we had last year. It began in late summer, has gotten progressively worse, and I have now begun to notice it on several of the other plants.”
Gazing at the limp leaves and several rotted branches, Victoria was alarmed. “Not my roses, I hope.” Her rose garden was her pride and joy, the abundance and variety of the blooms a source of great fulfillment . Even in October they still flourished because of her careful care and attention, feeding, watering and pruning a science and yet also an art tailored to the needs of each specific plant.
“Not yet. I check them daily. Perhaps Mr. Forsythe will know.”
She rose and dusted off her skirts. “Yes, Stephen would be the person to ask.”
“Let me know what he says, my lady. If you’ll excuse me, I have to tend to trimming the yews by the library.” Shuffling off, Gibbons left her standing there, gloomily looking at the sick bush, her mind elsewhere.
Good heavens, just the mention of Stephen’s name made her heart beat faster. And, she had to admit, she missed him terribly. He’d had to go to London for a week to give a lecture on his fruit tree experiments, promising to call as soon as he returned.
In that week she had come to the inevitable conclusion that she
was
in love with him. Oh, she’d loved him her whole life, but this was pure passionate love with all the longing, the yearning and the pleasure immortalized in song and literature.
was
in love with him. Oh, she’d loved him her whole life, but this was pure passionate love with all the longing, the yearning and the pleasure immortalized in song and literature.
As she strolled along the tidy paths, she hardly noticed the brilliant blue of the fine late fall sky, the sweetness of the breeze, or even more remarkably, the vegetation around her.
“Good afternoon.”
Since her thoughts were so occupied with him, the familiar voice seemed natural. Glancing up, she saw Stephen standing a few feet away, his hair slightly windblown, his jacket over his arm in deference to the unusual warmth. He smiled at her and lifted a brow. “I walked over and decided to cut through the gardens. I can usually count on finding you here on a day like this. How are you, Tori?”
“You’re back!” she cried, and before she could stop herself, she ran forward to fling herself into his arms. He caught her, and his mouth found hers with remarkable swiftness, hungry and welcoming as he kissed her deeply, in a way that made her very bones melt. “I missed you,” she explained breathlessly when they broke apart.
“I missed
you
.” He gazed intently into her eyes. “Your aunt sent a note asking me to tea, but I would have come over in any case to see you. Tea isn’t for an hour, so sit with me somewhere. The gazebo, perhaps.”
you
.” He gazed intently into her eyes. “Your aunt sent a note asking me to tea, but I would have come over in any case to see you. Tea isn’t for an hour, so sit with me somewhere. The gazebo, perhaps.”
“Yes,” Victoria agreed, her hand in his as he led her to the end of the path where a small structure sat; a somewhat neglected folly from another time that no one used anymore. It was graced with miniature Grecian pillars and a rotunda, open-sided but apart from the formal gardens. They had played there as children, she remembered, wondering at the idiosyncrasies of life. It had been their secret place.
He glanced around. “I guess I didn’t think how very dusty it would be in here. Maybe you can sit on my coat.”
“Damn your coat,” Victoria said dreamily. “Kiss me again.”
“That sounded remarkably like an order.” He grinned, and Stephen did not grin often.
I am truly lost, aren’t I
? she thought.
? she thought.
“It was.”
He took her in his arms and she pressed against him, savoring the heat of his mouth as it possessed hers, the stroke of his tongue, the fire that built inside her every time he touched her. It was only late afternoon, she thought as her body reacted instantly to the passion ignited by his touch. He could come to her tonight, but it was disappointing to have to wait when she wanted him right
now
.
now
.
And he wanted her, too. She could feel the thickening swell inside his breeches. Her body also recognized the blazing desire between them. Her sex softened, growing damp with need. When he broke the kiss for a moment to graze the line of her jaw with his warm lips, she said shamelessly, “Perhaps I could
lie
on your coat instead.”
lie
on your coat instead.”
“We’ll both get filthy,” Stephen objected, and it was true the floor was coated with grime and littered with piles of fallen leaves. “And someone could see us.”
“But, I need you,” she breathed, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, flattening her breasts against his chest so he could feel how hard her nipples had become through his linen shirt. “You know how infrequently anyone comes here, and Gibbons is out front.”
“You are the most reckless—”
Her hand slid lower to press against the length of his erection, stopping the admonishment mid-sentence, and he groaned.
“Here.” He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, pushing her forward so she was bent over. “Put your hands on the seat.”
“What?” A little surprised but intrigued, Victoria gasped when she felt him shove her skirt up from behind. In seconds she was shockingly bare, the warm breeze floating in through the windows across her naked bottom. She felt his hands there also, running over the curves, finding her cleft and caressing her aching center. “What are you doing?”
“There’s more than one position, my sweet. I’m going to mount you from behind.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll like it,” he added in distinct carnal promise. His fingers probed, parted, and penetrated her opening. “Damnation, are you always wet, Tori?” he muttered.
“Are you always hard?” she countered, realizing he had freed himself and his rigid staff was stiff against her exposed buttocks. His hands moved to cup her breasts through the material of her gown, squeezing slightly.
“When I’m around you, yes,” he murmured. “And let me note I admire your passionate nature more than I can express. Now, spread your legs a little if you want me.”
She complied instantly. Quivering in anticipation, she felt the engorged crest of his erection nudge—then stretch her deliciously, her moan of arousal abandoned and unabashed joy. When he stopped, the tip just inside her feminine opening, she tried to move backwards to force him farther inside, but his hands slid to her hips, stopping her and she protested hoarsely, “Stephen.”
“Tell me what you want, love,” he said thickly from behind her, “do you want it hard and fast?”
She wanted it—him—period. “Yes,” she breathed, her arms braced against the thrust she craved. “Fuck me, Stephen, please.”
He froze. “Wherever did you hear that word?”
The prim note of disapproval in his voice when he had her bent over and half-naked, his hard cock between her legs and partially penetrating her from behind, made her give a muffled laugh. “I’ve traveled all over the world. Do you think I haven’t heard most everything there is to hear? I can say it in Russian, for God’s sake. Now, please,
do
it.”
do
it.”
To her relief, he complied, his entrance urgent and gloriously intrusive, filling her completely. True to his word, he moved swiftly, pulsing forward and then sliding backwards to penetrate again, pumping in and out of her body as she closed her eyes in bliss and felt the decadent rise of orgasmic release flood her blood, her bones, the very core. He was right, the sensation was not the same, the friction different as she braced for each thrust and began to tremble.
“Oh God.” She felt the convulsions begin, holding hard to the dusty wooden seat, her body milking his shaft as he pushed impossibly deep and found the same rapturous pinnacle, hoarsely saying her name and pouring his release into her as he caught her before her knees buckled and she fell on the dusty floor.
His breath was ragged and warm against her ear, his arm strong around her waist, supporting her. “That was impetuous, but I suppose that is one of the things I love most about you.”
And Stephen was rarely impetuous. They were a good balance for one another.
When he slipped free, she felt disconcerting empty.
“Here, this is the least I can do.”
When she felt the gentle pressure between her thighs, she moaned again, her body still so aroused that the brush of cloth made her tremble. Vaguely she realized he was wiping the fluids of their lovemaking from her thighs and cleft. When she could breathe again, she straightened and began to adjust her clothing, turning to see him refastening his breeches, the bulge there not yet gone. It was almost comical to see him eye his soiled handkerchief, discarded on the dusty bench.
Stephen said firmly, “I have no desire to put that back in my pocket, but no idea how to dispose of it either.”
Victoria laughed, a spontaneous burst of mirth, because she was at once reminded that despite their reckless passionate joining just seconds before, he was truly a gentlemen at heart.
“Remember our treasure box?” she said, still laughing. “Put it in there.”
“I’d forgotten about it,” Stephen, looking fairly normal except for his rumpled hair, bent and pushed at a panel on one of the built-in wooden benches. Sure enough, it came loose, and inside still lay the collected items they once deemed treasure; a small ball, some dusty marbles, and a few Roman coins they had unearthed in the garden.
It was rather poignant to see him add the white linen cloth, still stained with the evidence of their sexual union, to that childhood collection.
“Who would have thought,” she said, “that things would turn out this way?”
Straightening, Stephen wiped a speck of dust from his breeches. “I did,” he said with absolute conviction. “Always.”
Aunt Clara looked nothing like herself, Victoria decided uneasily, when they entered the parlor. In fact, for someone who had invited a neighbor over for tea, she seemed to have forgotten the tea trolley.
“There you are,” her aunt said in an uncharacteristically brisk tone. “Both of you, together. That’s convenient. Sit down.”
Victoria sat in an embroidered chair, cautiously eyeing her aunt’s flushed face. Usually Clara was so cheerful and affectionate, but they hadn’t even gotten so much as a greeting. Stephen sat opposite, the delicate chair looking ridiculous under his utterly masculine body.
“There are rumors,” Clara announced to them both, “rather scandalous rumors, in fact. People are saying . . . well, I went to a luncheon today, and you wouldn’t believe, but . . . they’re saying the two of you are . . . well. . . .”
“Lovers?” Stephen supplied helpfully.
“Yes, thank you.” Her plump bosom heaving, Aunt Clara nodded. “I, of course, could not countenance it. Stephen wouldn’t compromise anyone, and there has never been a breath against you, Victoria. But it seems that the servants, well, there were some unusual noises from your bedroom one night—”
“I told you not to scream, darling,” Stephen said, giving Victoria an amused glance.
Shooting back a killing glare, Victoria had no idea what to say. Her aunt seemed in a similar fix, until she suddenly shook her head in obvious resignation. “Oh, dear, I suppose I was actually afraid it was true. Ever since you were little scamps, you were always getting into mischief together.”
“Victoria hasn’t yet made up her mind about what wants to do,” Stephen explained, his voice sounding infuriatingly reasonable. “She is used to a life in which she can pick up and follow her father across the globe. Marriage to me would tie her here, not just because I would want her by my side, but by the large family we will no doubt have.” He sent Victoria a wickedly teasing smile.
For a moment Victoria forgot Aunt Clara’s presence. “Is that why you haven’t asked me to marry you? Because you knew my dilemma?”
The teasing smile vanished. He said, “I was rather hoping you would fall so madly in love with me that losing your freedom wouldn’t matter so much.”
Her heart beat faster at the emotion she saw in his eyes. She said unsteadily but truthfully, “I did.”
In seconds he was out of his chair, pulling her to her feet, grasping her upper arms and looking down into her face. “Then marry me, have my children, Tori. We’ll grow our plants together, grow old together.” Then, leaning forward so he could whisper in her ear, he said, “I pledge to
fuck
you as often as you like, and I know you adore it when I pleasure you with my tongue between your legs, I . . .”
fuck
you as often as you like, and I know you adore it when I pleasure you with my tongue between your legs, I . . .”
Blushing, she put her hand over his mouth. “In that case,” she said softly, “how can I say no?” She grinned then as his arms slid around her, whispering against his lips, “You really are still a scamp, you know.”
He kissed her and grinned back. “So, darling, are you.”
Read on for a preview of
ONE WHISPER AWAY
ONE WHISPER AWAY
first in the all-new Ladies in Waiting series
by the
“deliciously wicked and tenderly romantic”*
Emma Wildes.
Available from Signet Eclipse.
*
New York Times
bestselling author Celeste Bradley
by the
“deliciously wicked and tenderly romantic”*
Emma Wildes.
Available from Signet Eclipse.
*
New York Times
bestselling author Celeste Bradley
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