Chapter Six

Chapter Six

T hey left Belle Fleurs, crossing the River Loire at Tours, and traveling up to Paris, where they rested for a few days at the de Saville town house, which was located in the Rue Soeur Celestine. Although Jasmine's coach accompanied them, she and James Leslie preferred riding their horses to being confined within the vehicle. A large baggage coach had accompanied them, containing not only the luggage, but Fergus More and Rohana, the two remaining servants. Madame Skye had departed for England two and a half weeks earlier, taking Adali and Toramalli with her, much to Daisy's great relief.

"Yer surely losing yer wits, my lady, when you volunteer to chaperone those four wild creatures back to England," she scolded Skye. "Do I not have all I can do just looking after you? You ain't getting any easier with age, and I ain't no lass anymore. I'm just an old widow woman like yerself."

Her mistress immediately reassured Daisy that Jasmine's two servants would be controlling the children. "They are only traveling with us, Daisy," she said. "Adali and Toramalli will handle everything."

"Well, I should hope so!" Daisy responded sharply.

Riding through the French countryside, Jemmie at her side, Jasmine remembered the exchange. She almost felt guilty that she had let her children go on ahead, thus allowing her this wonderful time with the man she was to marry. Beginning their journey, they had ridden a road through the vineyards along the Loire. The vines were replete with a new growth of bright green leaves, the tender tendrils reaching out for support. The vineyards eventually gave way to apple orchards in bloom, the air sweet with the delicate fragrance. The weather was perfect, and they rode beneath a canopy of blue skies with a warm sun on their shoulders.

The comte de Cher had supplied them with a large armed escort. He had arranged for their accommodation in small, clean inns, where the food was simple, but fresh and tasty, and the wines rich and fruity. It was almost a disappointment to arrive finally in Paris. Jasmine liked it little better than she liked London. Like that other city, the smells were rank from the garbage in the gutters, the crush of unwashed bodies in the streets, and the noise of discord that rarely seemed to die away. They visited Notre Dame and were admitted to the Louvre, where they saw the young king, Louis XIII, at dinner with his new queen, the Infanta Anne of Austria.

"Grandmama never liked Paris," Jasmine noted. "She says the French are an unpredictable people, prone to violence."

"She's right," the earl responded. "The Catholics and the Protestants are beginning to fight again. The queen mother, Marie de Medici, and her brother-in-law, Concini, are yet ruling in the king's name. Cardinal Mazarin is a man to be reckoned with, and there is a new, young cleric, Armand-Jean de Plessis de Richelieu, who, I suspect, will eventually be a power to contend with, on the horizon. France is not a safe place right now."

They stayed but two days, departing for the coast where Cardiff Rose, an O'Malley-Small trading company ship, awaited them. Boarding in the afternoon, James Leslie and Jasmine saw the coast of England the following morning, and remained on deck as the vessel swept around Margate Head on the incoming tide and into the wide estuary of the River Thames. The brisk May winds moved their transport up the waterway to London by the early evening. To their surprise they found Adali awaiting them with the de Marisco barge, which would ferry them to Greenwood House on the Strand.

"How on earth did you know when we would be arriving?" Jasmine asked her faithful retainer.

"I escorted your grandmother to Queen's Malvern, and then returned to London to await you, my lady. The captain of Cardiff Rose was instructed to tell me when he planned to depart, and how long it would take him to return to London. Lady de Marisco's factor in Paris notified her agent in London by pigeon when you left and when to expect you at Dover, my lady. The rest was quite simple," Adali concluded. Then he turned to the earl of Glenkirk. "Greetings, my lord. Your journey was a pleasant one, I hope." But before James Leslie could answer, Adali's sharp eye caught a movement, and he whirled about shouting, "Be careful of that coach, you barbarians! Has it traveled about England and France only to be destroyed by your carelessness? And go gently with the horses, or you will face my wrath." He turned back to Jasmine. "My princess, I think I must oversee this process else these louts ruin the carriage and frighten the animals. The barge will take you upriver to Greenwood. Toramalli returned to London with me and awaits you. All is in readiness for your arrival. There has already been a message from the king. He expects you at Whitehall in two days' time, and your uncle, the earl, is in residence at Lynmouth House, my lady." He bowed to them, and then, turning away, hurried off the vessel onto the docks, shouting instructions, and waving his arms.

Jasmine giggled. "He becomes more like an old woman with each passing year." she said, "but I could never do without him."

"Glenkirk Castle will certainly be surprised by him," the earl chuckled. "I like your Adali, darling Jasmine. He is devoted to you as am I. He is also intelligent and industrious, not to mention loyal."

"He has never forgotten that my mother, Lady Gordon, gave him the opportunity to advance himself, or that when she departed my father's realm my father entrusted my safety to him. He has been with me my entire life. I cannot imagine being without Adali."

They debarked Cardiff Rose and entered the barge, seating themselves within the little cabin, which had etched glass windows and a scarlet velvet bench with the painted red-and-gold designs upon the bench's oak back. The entry curtain was drawn back with a gold rope so they might see out as the Greenwood bargemen rowed them upriver to their destination. About them the twilight was deepening.

He put his arm about her, saying, "I cannot wait to pay our respects to the king and leave London so we may be wed. In the autumn I shall take you home to Scotland. We will hunt red deer on the heathered hillsides, and you will see the trees become banners of scarlet and gold with the arrival of the cold weather. And when the snows come, we will nestle together like two rabbits deep in their winter burrow, doing what rabbits do best," he finished mischievously, pulling her close and fondling her breasts as his lips brushed against her hair, her cheek, finally finding her lips.

She purred, molding herself against him with a contented sigh, her mouth ripe and yielding beneath his. "Ummmmmm," she murmured. "Oh, Jemmie, you do bring out the wanton in me, I fear. Stop it this minute else the bargemen see and gossip."

In answer he reached out and, pulling at the door curtain tie, successfully obtained their privacy. Then, before she might offer a feeble protest, he knelt before her and, pushing her skirts up, lowered his dark head between her milky thighs. The touch of his tongue upon her sensitive flesh elicited a sharp gasp from Jasmine, particularly when he flicked his tongue rapidly back and forth over her tingling flesh. His elegant hands held her thighs apart firmly, but insistently.

"Jemmmmmmie!" she squeaked, struggling to keep her voice low so the bargemen would not hear her obvious pleasure. The tension was building within her nether regions. Her fingers kneaded his dark head frantically. "Ohhh, God!"

He raised his head, and his green-gold eyes were fierce. "I want you! Here! Now!" He twisted himself about so that he was seated once more, then he pulled her onto his lap, impaling her upon his manhood, which had somehow broken loose of the restraints of his clothing. With one quick thrust he filled her.

"Ohhhh, yessss!" she moaned, her head thrashing, feeling as if she was about to erupt with pleasure. They shouldn't be doing this here. Not with just a velvet curtain between them and four burly bargemen. "Ohhhhh, Jemmmie!" It was wicked. It was disgraceful. What if they were caught? It was wonderful! She rode him hungrily.

His head was spinning. She was wanton. She was delicious. He had never desired a woman like he desired Jasmine. And now she was his! He groaned and, unable to help himself, allowed his hot seed to water her hidden garden, even as she collapsed against him, her dark head falling onto his shoulder. His arms wound about her, holding her close, nuzzling at her perfumed hair. "You are irresistible, madame," he murmured low. "I came to France determined to punish you for your outrageous disobedience—hating you for making me a figure of ridicule—and within three months' time you enthrall me, and I am helpless to your charms once again. What is worse, I am content to be so, Jasmine. I believe that I have never stopped loving you." Gently he lifted her off his lap and set her next to him again.

Jasmine smoothed her skirts, her cheeks pink and burning. He was an incredible and daring lover she had discovered these past few weeks, but love? She could not lie to him, nor would he want it. "I have never had the time to fall in love with you," she said slowly.

"I know," he replied, "but I did fall in love with you that Twelfth Night so long ago at your uncle's fete. Alas, I was a laggard in revealing my emotions, even to myself, Jasmine. You married Rowan Lindley and went on with your life. I continued to love you in secret. When Rowan died, and Prince Henry claimed you for his own, you moved into a new relationship while I clutched my secret to my breast, never daring to believe that one day you would be mine. Now you are, and you will have a lifetime to learn to love me, darling Jasmine."

"And will I?" she asked him softly.

He turned her face to his with a gentle hand. His gaze was warm, and Jasmine was suddenly breathless. "Aye, madame," he answered her low. "You will learn to love me." Then he kissed her lips, and she felt as near to swooning as she had ever felt.

"Greenwood Landing!" a voice called out.

Instantly James Leslie leaned forward and drew back the curtain shielding them. "You made good time," he said to the head bargeman.

"Tide still be with us, my lord," was the answer, "and Gawd only knows how many times we've rowed up and down the old Thames."

The bargemen guided the boat up against the quay landing. It bumped the stone gently. When it had been made fast to the piling, James Leslie exited the little cabin, helping Jasmine, and they gained the shore, walking up the lawns to the house. A figure came forward to greet them, and, recognizing him, Jasmine ran forward into his embrace.

"Uncle Robin!" She lifted her heart-shaped face for a kiss.

Robert Southwood, the earl of Lynmouth, hugged his niece warmly, and kissed her cheek. "So, you impossible vixen, you have at last come home to us. The king is eager to see you, but not so eager to punish you now that he has seen his grandson, I think." Southwood escorted the couple up into the house.

"The king has seen Charles Frederick?" Jasmine was surprised.

"Mama stopped in London with the children when she arrived two weeks ago. She brought your offspring to court. The king was delighted and every bit as loving to your young marquis and his lady sisters as he was to his own blood. The children's manners were exquisite, and everyone was mightily impressed by them, Jasmine. Did you not know that Mama intended to visit Whitehall before she departed for Queen's Malvern? No," the Earl of Lynmouth answered his own question. "You obviously did not know. Mama is as clever as she ever was, I think. She has done you a great kindness, my dear, and taken the edge off of the king's anger. Things have not been going well for the king of late, and your very public disobedience has not helped his mood. Now, however, having seen little Charles Frederick, he is less testy. The boy is a delight, and charmed his royal grandfather completely."

Jasmine was silent, then she said. "All the children went to Queen's Malvern with Grandmama, didn't they, Uncle Robin?"

"Of course," he replied. "What made you ask such a question?"

"Jasmine fears that the king will take Charlie-boy away from her and give him to strangers to raise, even as he did with Prince Henry. The queen once warned Jasmine of such a thing. I do not believe that she will rest easily until the king assures her otherwise," the earl of Glenkirk told the earl of Lynmouth.

Robin Southwood looked thoughtful, and said, "I think that we must indeed get the king's word that Charles Frederick Stuart remains with his mother and stepfather. Aye! We need a royal guarantee."

"What have you heard?" Jasmine was pale with anticipation.

"Nothing, my dear," Robin Southwood hurried to reassure his niece, "but it is always wise not to put one's trust in kings, Jasmine. Their exalted status makes them believe that God sanctions their every move, and I do not think that it is always so. You did not, however, hear me say that. I am the king's loyal servant and would never question his divine right." He patted her shoulder, his lime green eyes twinkling.

She giggled, and the girlish sound did his heart good. "Uncle, you are really quite disrespectful of the king," she teased.

"Never, my dear," he replied. "You will remember that I grew up in a far more impressive court than this one is, and served a greater queen than this king. Like my father before me, I am the perfect courtier. However, I have only come up from Devon to welcome you home, Jasmine, and to smooth your way in two days' time when you must present yourself to James Stuart and make your abject apologies to him for your disobedience. After that I am gone, back to my sweet Angel and the children and our grandchildren. I no longer have a taste for this life, I fear. I think the king's little passions will be his downfall. First Carr, and now two new young men vie for his favor."

They found their way to the family hall and, seating themselves at the board, waited for the servants to serve them.

"The king was not always as he is now," James Leslie said. "I knew him from childhood. I think his age and time have conspired to make him behave foolishly."

"He never had a mistress like so many of his antecedents," Robin Southwood said. "He has always been faithful to the queen, but for his young men; and those only since he came to England."

"But he was not always faithful to the queen," Glenkirk said quietly, taking a deep draught of his wine.

Southwood was fascinated. "No?"

"The king once had a mistress." Jasmine said.

"My mother," Glenkirk answered. "It was a very long time ago. The king developed a passion for her, although she never encouraged him. He sent my father to Denmark to escort his new bride home to Scotland, and while my father was gone James Stuart forced my mother to his will. When my father finally learned of it, it destroyed their marriage, and Mama fled to Lord Bothwell for protection. It is a long story, and perhaps some time I shall tell you of it; but the king was not always the silly fellow he is now. He was ruthless, and cruel, and as tough as any soldier."

"Did the queen know?" Jasmine was curious.

"I don't know," James Leslie answered her. "I do not think so, for she was always very kind to me, and to my brothers and sisters. I don't think anyone knew but Lord Bothwell, my father, the king, and my mother's servant, Ellen. You must remember the strict way in which the king was raised, surrounded by overpious and overmoral men, who would have been horrified to learn that their king, their protégé, had coveted another man's wife and taken her despite her refusals."

"God's nightshirt!" the earl of Lynmouth said, using a favorite expletive of the late queen. "I should never have believed such a tale but that it is yours, Jemmie. Your mother married Bothwell, didn't she?"

"After my father's death," James Leslie said, "except that he wasn't dead. He went to the New World, and his ship was lost. He was presumed dead, but damned if he didn't turn up several years later at Glenkirk with a wild account of his adventures. By that time the king had had him declared dead, and Mama was remarried and living in Italy with Lord Bothwell and their three children. I convinced him to reveal himself to no one else but me. To remain dead for everyone's sake. Since he had no desire to resume his former life, he agreed. There was, it seemed, a beautiful young lady in the New World awaiting his return." The earl chuckled. "My father was ever the charmer."

"Is he still alive?" Jasmine wondered aloud.

"Aye! He married his lady-in-waiting, and has since fathered several more children," James Leslie told his audience.

"You will be completely at home in this family, I can see," Robin Southwood said. "My grandfather was a pirate. My sister, Willow, was fathered by a renegade Spaniard who lived in Algiers. And Jasmine is the daughter of an Indian emperor." He laughed. "We are not a quiet clan, but then neither, it would appear, are the Leslies of Glenkirk."

They had eaten as they talked. A simple meal of sliced salmon, roasted capon, new lettuce braised in white wine, baby peas, bread, and two cheeses: a soft Brie from France, and a sharp cheddar. Now the earl of Lynmouth arose to take his leave of Jasmine and Jemmie.

"I will leave you to yourselves tomorrow," he told them, "but I will come to escort you to Whitehall myself on the following day." He turned to his niece. "You must be prepared to humble yourself, Jasmine. You do understand that, don't you? The king is fully prepared to forgive you providing that you are properly contrite. The Mughal's daughter must masque herself behind the guise of a remorseful and apologetic dowager marchioness of Westleigh. Are you ready to do that?"

"Yes, Uncle," Jasmine said softly.

"Such docility, my dear," he teased her. "I am most impressed. Now behave that way with the king, and we will have no more difficulties." The earl of Lynmouth looked at James Leslie. "I would congratulate you on the success of your venture, sir, but I can see that you have fallen in love with her all over again and are as helpless as a babe before my niece's wiles. Try to appear in control of the situation before old king fool." He saluted them with an elegant bow and departed.

"Grandmama says he is much like his father," Jasmine observed when her favorite uncle had gone. She sipped at her wine and reached for a strawberry from the basket just placed upon the highboard. "Would you?" she teased him, biting into the berry, "like to continue our discussion of earlier? The one we began in the barge? Do you think anyone else ever made love while rowing upon the river, Jemmie?" She licked the juice of the ripe strawberry from her fingers.

"I suspect we were not original in our efforts there," he remarked dryly. He leaned over and licked the fruit juice from the corners of her mouth. "Ummmm, good," he observed, and took one of the berries for himself. Holding it by its green stem, he stroked the berry provocatively with his tongue, then, biting into it, he swiftly devoured it.

Jasmine reached out and caught his hand. Raising it to her lips, she slowly sucked each of his fingers free of the sweet juice, all the while holding him in thrall with her turquoise gaze. Rising from her seat she led him from the hall, but not before the earl of Glenkirk had reached out to capture the strawberry basket in his free hand. They moved from the main level of the house to its third floor, where the bedchambers were located. She led him into the large apartment that had once been her grandmother's. It consisted of a dayroom, a bedchamber, and a dressing room. Rohana came forward as they entered, but seeing the naked passion between her mistress and Lord Leslie, the servant quickly and discreetly withdrew even as the two lovers disappeared into the welcoming bedchamber.

Jasmine took the basket from him and set it upon the bedside table. Her fingers fumbled with the fastenings on his doublet, pulling it open, drawing it off, unlacing the shirt beneath, almost ripping at the fabric as she pulled it over his head. With a little cry she smoothed her hands over his furred chest, her fingers moving in excited little circles. Their earlier encounters had but whetted her appetite for him. His skin was warm beneath her fervid touch.

He matched her actions, undoing her bodice and loosening her skirt tapes so that the garment fell to the floor. Her breasts swelled dangerously over the top of her chemise. He bent his dark head and kissed the pulsating flesh. Then, impatient, he ripped the garment off of her, flinging the remnants of fabric across the room, even as she undid his breeches, drawing them down, letting them fall that he might step from them. She tore his drawers off as he had her chemise.

Their mouths meshed in a hot, humid kiss. Their bodies touched their full lengths as he pulled her against him. Crushed against his furred body, she whimpered deep in her throat, "Jemmie! Jemmie!" Her arms slipped about him, her hands slipped down his back to cup his taut buttocks. She kneaded the flesh with supple fingers, feeling his thighs press even tighter against hers, feeling his wiry, thick bush touching her velvety smooth Venus mont. She wrapped a single leg about his leg, forcing them into an even closer juxtaposition.

"Ohhh, bitch!" he groaned, taking her face between his hands and covering it with kisses. His warm lips moved across her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids. Their tongues intertwined in a lustful dance as his hands moved up to tangle themselves in her hair, pulling the pins from it so that it fell in an ebony swath about them. Now he was cupping the double moons of her bottom, forcing her to release her grip on his leg. Slowly he raised her, and then, equally slowly, he lowered her onto his hot raging lover's lance. "Bitch!" he half sobbed.

Jasmine wrapped her legs about his torso. Dear heaven! He was so hard that his deliberate entry had almost hurt her. Her head fell back, and at once he leaned forward, licking the slender column of her throat with a burning tongue. She whimpered again as he moved across the chamber and carefully lowered her onto the edge of the bed. Fully braced, she unwound her legs from about him, and he pushed them back, allowing him greater access to her throbbing sheath. Her arms lay above her head, giving him total freedom of her breasts.

Reaching out with both hands he squeezed them hard, half-smiling at her cry of passion. Leaning forward, he began to tongue the nipples. Her breasts had always been her most vulnerable point. He teased them unmercifully, licking, nibbling, kissing, biting down on the sensitive nibs just enough to cause quick pain, which he immediately kissed away, all the while remaining buried deep within her sheath.

Jasmine could feel him throbbing within her. Her breasts felt swollen and tight, as if they were about to burst, but she knew even if such a thing were possible, she would still not obtain relief. She was afire with her own lust and almost maddened in her passion. "Fuck me, dammit!" she hissed at him. "Fuck me!"

He looked down into her face and laughed softly. "Tell me how much you desire me, darling Jasmine," he taunted her, then caught the hands that reached out, fingers curled to scratch him. He forced her arms back over her head again. "Tell me!" he growled. "Tell me, or I shall leave you. You may not love me, sweetheart, but by God, you shall desire me! Tell me!" His green-gold eyes blazed down at her.

"You desire me as much as I do you!" she retorted, and squeezed his manhood with the muscles of her sheath's walls. It was an old harem trick that all the women of her country used to pleasure their men.

"Say the words, Jasmine. Say that you lust after me!" he insisted, a spasm crossing his face as she tortured him.

"Say it!" Bending, he took a nipple into his mouth and began to suckle hard upon it.

She almost screamed. He was killing her. He claimed to love her, but he was killing her. Her whole body had begun to ache with her hunger to be satisfied. "I want you, Jemmie!" she half sobbed. "I want you! Now fuck me before you destroy me, you bastard!"

Almost at once he began to move within and upon her. The rhythm became faster and faster, until their combined passion exploded in a furious burst that left him breathless and her unconscious for a brief few moments. She soared so high with her pleasure that Jasmine thought she would never return to earth, and cared not, but of course, she eventually did. He lay half-sprawled upon her, his breathing rough and harsh, his heart hammering violently.

She couldn't move. She was replete with satisfaction and didn't want to move. Obviously neither did he. They lay there, and she dozed easily, relishing the pleasure they had just given each other. When finally he pulled himself to his feet, she asked him sleepily, "Did Rohana draw me a bath?"

James Leslie shook his head to clear it, and glanced across the bedchamber. There before the fire was her oaken tub. "Aye," he said.

Jasmine struggled to her feet. "I want to bathe," she told him. Bending, she drew off her stockings with their beribboned garters, and padded across the floor, climbing into the tub. "It's still warmish," she announced, and, taking up the flannel cloth and soap, began to wash herself, soaping everything he could see and everything he couldn't see.

He watched her, fascinated. He had just experienced the most passionate moment he had ever known. Their desire for each other had been such that they had both been close to violence. It had been damnably exciting. James Leslie had always been a conservative man. Responsibility had been thrust upon him at an early age by a less-than-restrained father and his beautiful, passionate mother, whose indiscreet affair had ended in self-imposed exile from Scotland. His sweet Isabelle had been a charming young wife, but there had never been any fire. He had not believed himself capable of fire until now. There was obviously more of his mother's nature in him than he had previously thought.

"Jemmie." She was standing in her tub now, the water sluicing down her lush body. She beckoned to him. "Let me bathe you, my lord."

In a half daze he stepped into the tub, standing patiently as she washed him, the flannel cloth and the soap moving swiftly up, and down his long frame, caressing his broad shoulders with a silken swish, sliding down his long legs as she half-knelt. He shuddered just slightly as her firm touch bathed the instrument of his sex, but if she noticed, Jasmine said nothing. Standing again, she rinsed him thoroughly.

"There!" she said, her tone pleased. "You're done. Let us get dry. You do me, and I'll do you." She handed him a towel, taking the other for herself and rubbing him vigorously. "Ohhh, that's so much better," she said when they had dried each other off. She dashed across the bedchamber to get into bed. "I haven't had a proper bath since we left Belle Fleurs. I hate being dirty, and those little sponge baths are never the same as a good tub of water."

"Don't you want a nightgown?" he asked her.

"Why? Do you want me to wear one, Jemmie? Come into bed, my lord, else you catch your death of cold." She motioned to the place beside her, holding the covers back in invitation.

He slid in beside her, and Jasmine immediately cuddled up against him. His big hand smoothed her long dark hair. "I can't stop wanting you tonight," he finally admitted. "What magic is this, darling Jasmine, that you have spun about me like a spider's web?"

"God's blood," she swore softly, "my uncle is right. You are in love with me, James Leslie, but you mustn't be! This must be a marriage of convenience, and respect. It cannot be a love match!"

"Why not?" he demanded, looking down into her beautiful face.

"Because the men I love die! You know that, Jemmie!"

"We all die eventually, darling Jasmine. Why Madame Skye lost five husbands to death before she wed your grandfather and lived happily with him for over forty years." His arms tightened about her. "You are going to love me, sweetheart, and when you realize that you do, you are going to admit it to me." He kissed her worried brow. "Now go to sleep. Your lusty desires have exhausted me, and I need my rest if we are to enjoy another bout of Eros before the dawn."

"You are the insatiable one," she muttered, nestling contently.

He chuckled throatily.

They slept for several hours, and when Jasmine awoke she saw that the fire was burning as brightly as it had been when she had fallen into slumber. She lay upon her back and had obviously thrown the covers off. Feeling a fluttery movement, she glanced down, and saw that he had placed a destemmed strawberry in her navel, and was even now in the process of eating it. Placing a second berry where the first had been, he devoured it, too.

Jasmine giggled. "How long have you been using me as a plate for your fruit?" she asked him.

"I've eaten six berries so far," he admitted, grinning.

"‘Tis my turn then," Jasmine said, sitting up. "Lie back, sir, and I shall begin." He had destemmed the remaining berries in the basket. She set one each upon his nipples, then ran a ribbon of strawberries down his chest to his navel, and from his navel to his groin. She outlined his dark bush in a half-moon of berries, then finished, she drew herself up and began to eat the fruits of her labor.

He forced himself to lie very, very still, even when her small teeth grazed his flesh, sending a tingle down his spine. He watched her, totally fascinated, as she picked at each berry delicately. His torso was soon covered in strawberry juice, which she licked from his flesh. Finally only the six berries half-circling his bush remained. Slowly, deliberately, she ate each one, and when she had finished, licking the juice up, she bent lower and took him into her mouth. Half-rampant already, he groaned with pleasure as her teeth delicately nibbled upon him, and her tongue sensuously teased at his hot flesh. And when he thought he would burst with desire, she released him briefly, climbing atop him to slowly, slowly, lower herself onto his hard manhood. Reaching out, he began to fondle her breasts with his hands as she moved on him, her little cries telling him of the pleasure she, too, was receiving.

Jasmine's head was spinning as she rode him. He was big and hard, and she couldn't seem to get enough of his passion. This isn't love, she insisted to herself. This is lust. Nothing more than healthy lust. She couldn't love him, for if she did, he would surely meet as bad an end as had Jamal, and Rowan, and her sweet prince, Hal. But, ohh, he was an incredible lover! "Jemmie! Jemmie!" she cried out to him, unable to restrain herself. Oh, God! It wasn't enough! It wasn't!

James Leslie saw the frustration and confusion upon her face and took immediate charge of the situation. Rolling her over onto her back he thrust hard and deep into her again, and again, and again. She needed him even if she couldn't admit it, and he knew it. Oh, darling Jasmine, he thought to himself, you are falling in love with me even if you cannot yet admit it to yourself.

Beneath him Jasmine writhed with total pleasure. There were stars exploding behind her closed eyelids and a building hot pleasure in her nether regions. Unable to help herself, she clawed fiercely at his broad shoulders as the spasms began to unleash themselves within her with a torrid violence that racked her very soul. She was crying out. Her teeth sank viciously into his shoulder, and then she and he exploded together in an incredible burst of raw passion. She could feel the heat of his juices almost burning her womb even as she tasted the blood in her mouth from his shoulder. Frantically, she licked the wound.

"Bitch!" he groaned, and his mouth descended upon hers in a fierce kiss that left her almost breathless, until he finally rolled off of her and lay panting upon his back. "My God," he at last managed to gasp. "What has happened between us? Is it always going to be so … so … so wild?" His heart was hammering against his ribs.

"I … I … don't know," she half sobbed. Dear heaven, it had been wild. She didn't understand this fierce desire between them. Jamal, her first husband, had been a gentle lover. Rowan Lindley, her second husband, had been passionate and tender, as had Prince Henry, when she had been his mistress. This was beyond anything she had ever known. It was a savage passion with each of them trying to gain a mastery over the other. Would it always be this way between them she wanted to know? Did they want it always to be this way? Could they survive if it remained this way? Jasmine just did not know.

He reached out and took her hand in his. "How can you not love me when our passion is so deep?" he asked her.

"I mustn't love you," she whispered. "I mustn't!"

"You do love me," he insisted. "I know you do!"

"I am afraid, Jemmie!"

He cradled her in the curve of his arm. "Why? And do not say it is because the men you love die, sweetheart."

"But they do, Jemmie," she said desperately. "Each time I have been given to a man, first by my father, and then by my grandparents, I have fallen in love, and I have been happy. All I have ever wanted was to love my husband and bear healthy children to love and raise. When Jamal was murdered I lost the child I was carrying. When Rowan was killed by that fanatic I was left with two children and wascarrying a third. I almost died myself that time. And finally Henry Stuart. He should not have died! He should have lived to be England's king, but he did not. He loved me, and he died."

"The prince died of an illness contracted by swimming in the river when he was overheated from sport. It was unfortunate, but you cannot be held responsible for young Hal's death, Jasmine; and the fact that he was in love with you is inconsequential to the matter. As for your first husband, he was assassinated on the orders of your brother. The bullet that killed Rowan was meant for you, and not the marquis. Both incidents were lamentable. Jamal, Prince Henry, and Rowan Lindley were unlucky, but that is all there was to their deaths, Jasmine." He kissed the top of her head. "We are being married on June 15, sweetheart, and we are going to live a long and happy life together, darling Jasmine, because I will not have it any other way," the earl of Glenkirk concluded. "Now, tell me you love me, you impossible wench! I have certainly waited long enough to hear the words from your mouth."

"You are too sure of yourself, my lord," she replied.

"Jasmine!" His tone was threatening.

She looked up into his handsome face. "I do want a long and happy life together with you, James Leslie. I do!"

"Do you love me?" he persisted.

Jasmine nodded. "Yes, Jemmie, I love you," she told him, "and I always will."