Sylvia Day - Passion for Him

He pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Make the leap with me, Amelia. I am holding on to our love with both hands, despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t. Do the same. Embrace your wild nature and run with me. Be free with me. We shall all be happier for it.”

She gazed at him for a long moment, her vision blurring with tears. Then she threw herself into his arms.

“Yes,” she whispered with her cheek pressed to his. “Let’s be free.”

Christopher, Simon, and Ware were engrossed in a discussion when Maria burst into the room with her skirts held in one hand and a missive in the other.

All three men rose immediately. Christopher and Simon both stepped toward her with frowns marring their handsome features. Ware merely raised his brows.

“I found this atop Amelia’s pillow! Mitchell has absconded with her.”

Simon blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“Truly?” Christopher smiled.

“He says he intends to marry her.” She glanced down at the note to read it again. “They are already headed north.”

“We must hurry or we will miss the nuptials,” Ware said.

“You knew?” Maria stared at him with wide eyes.

“I hoped,” he corrected. “I am pleased to see the man has come to his senses.”

Maria opened her mouth, then shut it again.

“Well, let’s not dally,” Christopher said, catching her elbow and spinning her back around toward the door. “We have packing to see to. Tim can guard Mademoiselle Rousseau and Jacques while we are absent.”

“North,” Simon muttered. “May I ride in your carriage, my lord?”

“Certainly.”

Still finding it difficult to believe, Maria glanced over her shoulder at Ware.

“This is a happy occasion, Mrs. St. John,” he drawled, following directly behind them. “You should be smiling as I am.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She looked at Christopher, who nodded. With that, she shrugged and laughed aloud. Then she lifted her skirts and raced her husband up the stairs.

“We set sail in a few hours,” Quinn said, fingering a coined tassel on a multicolored pillow. “My trunks and valet are aboard, and Lysette is safely restrained in my cabin.”

They sat in the family parlor of Colin’s new town house in London. It was a large room, beautifully decorated in shades of soft blue and gold. Around the room, Amelia had added colorful touches of his heritage-pillows encased in glorious scarves, small carved figurines, and bowls of Romany trinkets given to them by Pietro as wedding gifts. The style was unfashionable and would be considered horrifyingly gauche by many, but they both loved the space and spent a great deal of time curled up together there.

Embrace who you are, she had said, with a new confidence that aroused him unbearably. She, too, was embracing the reckless side of herself that she had fought to contain for so long. Fears of becoming too much like her father were banished, just as Colin’s fear of being unworthy of her no longer had power to dictate his actions.

Colin leaned back in his chair and asked Quinn, “Did the French agree to release your men in a trade for the return of Mademoiselle Rousseau and Cartland?”

“And Jacques. They want him, too. But I am only taking Lysette with me for now. They can have the other two back after I am certain they will honor their end of the agreement.”

“I do not envy you that trip,” Colin said, wincing. “I cannot imagine Mademoiselle Rousseau makes a very good prisoner.”

“She is miserable, but I am enjoying the whole thing immensely.”

Colin laughed. “Because you’re a cad. When will you return?”

“I am not certain.” Shrugging, Quinn said, “Perhaps after I ensure that the others are released. Or perhaps not even then. Maybe I will travel some.”

“You are good to your men, Quinn. It is a trait I have always admired in you.”

“They are not my men any longer. I have resigned.” He nodded at Colin’s raised brows. “Yes, it’s true. My work for Eddington was diverting for a time, but now I must find new ways to amuse myself.”

“Such as?”

“Some sort of trouble will come up.” Quinn grinned. “Seeing you in your evening finery reminds me that a life of social indulgence is not for me. It would bore me to tears.”

“Not with the right woman.”

Quinn threw his dark head back and laughed, a rich, full sound that brought a smile to Colin’s lips.

“Even when I was maudlin with love for Maria,” Quinn said, pushing to his feet, “I thankfully never spouted such nonsense.”

Colin rose with him, flushing sheepishly. “One day, I hope to remind you of your protestations and watch you eat your words.”

“Ha! That day will be a long time coming, my friend. Likely, neither of us will live long enough to see it.”

As Quinn turned to leave the room, Colin felt more than a small measure of sadness at their parting. Quinn was a wanderer by nature; therefore, they would see each other far less often. After all they had endured and experienced together, he thought of Quinn as a brother and would miss him accordingly.

“Farewell, my friend.” Quinn clapped him on the back when they reached the foyer. “I wish you much joy and many children in your marriage.”

“I wish you happy, as well.”

Quinn touched his brow in a smart salute, and then he was gone. Off to find his next adventure.

Colin stared at the closed front door for a long moment.

“Darling.”

Amelia’s throaty purr sent a wave of heat across his skin.

He turned to face her with a smile and found her paused at the top of the stairs, dressed in only her robe. Her hair was beautifully, intricately arranged with twinkling diamonds weaved among the powdered strands.

“You have yet to dress?” he asked.

“I was nearly finished.”

“It does not appear that way to me.”

“I had to stop when Anne brought me the finishing touches to my ensemble…and the final piece of yours.”

“Oh?” His smile widened. He knew well that look of seductive mischief in her eyes.

Her left arm lifted gracefully, the emerald of her wedding ring glinting in the candlelight from the foyer chandelier, her delicate fingers wrapped with lustrous black satin and dangling a familiar white mask.

Every muscle in his body hardened.

“If you like,” she murmured, “we can go to the masquerade as planned. I know it took you some time to dress.”

He strode toward the stairs. “It would take me considerably less time to undress,” he purred.

“I should like you to wear this.”

“I set it out for a reason.”

“Wicked man.”

Colin took the steps two at a time and caught her up, relishing the feel of her soft, unfettered body pressed to his. “I’m wicked? It is you, Countess Montoya, who lures me away from a staid social outing in favor of a night of licentious revelry.”

“I cannot resist.” She lifted the mask to his face and secured the ribbons. “I have a passion for you.”

“Indulge it,” he growled, his lips to her throat. “I beg of you.”

Her laughter was filled with joy and love. It filled his heart then, and over the course of many hours afterward. Along with other, equally wondrous sounds.