Wolfsgate Read online

  The thought of him being with her out of a sense of obligation pained her. What if last night was simply an expression of that obligation or a fleeting impulse? Justine wanted him to feel free, not like a prisoner. No, not a prisoner. She knew too well what that felt like.

  “You’re over thinking again.”

  “Brandon, wouldn’t you prefer to arrange for something else?”

  “Something else?”

  “I know a divorce is impossible, but there must be some other arrangement you would prefer?”

  His head snapped up at her, his eyes a dark shade of green. “Oh? What would you prefer, Justine?”

  “What I mean is you are back from the dead. A whole new life is ahead of you. You should be able to decide for yourself who you want to marry, instead of being burdened with Richard and William’s scheme.”

  A muscle in his cheek tensed. “Aren’t those lovely sentiments? Do you feel guilty?”

  “I don’t want you to be trapped. I was trapped as well.”

  “How is it you say these things to me now after last night?” His gaze swept over her. “You either think very lowly of me or very lowly of yourself.”

  Her face heated. “Last night was—”

  “Yes?”

  Steam rose from her chest and heated her face. She could still smell him on her skin, feel his tongue on her flesh, the fulness of him inside her. “Last night was wonderful,” she whispered.

  His fingers traced a trail along her collarbone and her body gave a start at the contact. He lifted an eyebrow. “These are not ideal circumstances and all of it quite unfair to the both of us. Yet you think you are a burden to me? Aren’t I the burden in this equation?”

  “I think you are hurt and angry, and you have every right to be.” She leveled her eyes at him. “You’ve been deceived by your own family. I only wonder if you may feel different over time once things settle in your head. I wouldn’t want you to feel stuck or bound to me when you don’t have to be.”

  His eyes blazed. “Regardless of how this marriage came about, you are not a burden to me, Justine. Perhaps this marriage is holding you back?” His neck stiffened, the tone of his voice icy. “Holding you back from someone else or from another life you had planned for yourself?” The angles of his face hardened making the scars seem more pale and prominent over his skin.

  “No, Brandon, this marriage is not holding me back from anyone or anything else. I told you the truth at the cemetery. It’s an honor for me to be your wife.”

  His lips pressed into a firm line as he turned away from her. Picking up her half empty tea cup that was on the table behind them, he drained it of the now cool liquid then slammed the cup back in its saucer. “My frock coat?” he asked, his voice flat, his face ashen. “Where is it?” His gaze jumped about the room.

  “Your frock coat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that where it is?” Justine asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “The laudanum, Brandon.” Davidson was right to warn her he might seek out a substitute on his own; that the first months would be extremes of up and down.

  “Smart girl.” A frozen smile hardened his face. “The local apothecary is full of it. A most virtuous tincture, the man told me, a highly recommended panacea for every ailment. It’s a lesser form, of course, but it provides an acceptable haze to stem the panic-ridden tides that overwhelm me still.”

  “A haze? Is that what you seek?”

  “As you keep pointing out, Justine, trying to come to terms with over two years of your life having been stolen by your own uncle and cousin is a lot to take in. It’s all left a bitter taste in my mouth. Got to wash it away somehow.”

  “Don’t give into it.”

  His eyes squinted at her, his brows bunched. “Why the hell not? It appeases this sizzle in my veins quite nicely. I’ve tried the past few days, I really have. But dealing with one’s own resurrection is proving to be a tad trying.”

  “This difficulty shouldn’t be for too much longer. Don’t waste yourself to this poison.”

  “Pretty words.” His nostrils flared. “Are you going to save me now, my girl?”

  “Tell me.” Her steady gaze pierced him where he stood. “These tides—what do they feel like?”

  He swallowed. “My head is buzzing, my fingertips are numb. There’s this wet chill clinging to my flesh like a tight veil of slimy ice, and I’m nauseated, thank you very much.”

  “I understand this is difficult, unbearable physically. But ‘tis temporary, ‘twill pass.”

  “Just give me the goddamn laudanum, Justine!”

  “I wish I could save you somehow, but only you can save yourself. I think if you want it badly enough, you can accomplish anything. You’re strong that way, Brandon.”

  “How inspirational, Lady Graven, but I’m not strong. I’m simply vile.”

  “Do you have any idea how this all began?”

  He exhaled heavily, his face stony. “You said it was my pain remedy in hospital.” He scratched at his arm.

  “Yes, but you were provided with a steady supply. More than necessary. William and Richard made sure that plenty was available for you, because they paid for it, Brandon. I overheard them discussing it in the study last year. They were laughing.”

  His cold eyes clamped on hers.

  “Your coat is over there,” she said pointing to the garment draped over a chair in the corner. “Molly was going to sew a tear on the pocket this morning.” They stared at each other in silence. “Go get it then.”

  He sprang at the chair and groped at the frock coat, finally extracting a small glass bottle from a pocket. His shoulders drooped as he rubbed the bottle with his thumb. “I’ve been trying Justine, fighting this for days. It’s not working.” He turned to her, his eyes cloudy. “More tea.”

  She poured tea in her cup. The muscle in his cheek twitched again. “A few drops will dull this bloody sting right now. It’s weaker than the opium I’m accustomed to. I can wean myself off it like baby’s milk.”

  “You’ve been weaning for a while now, haven’t you?” she asked. He only scowled at her.

  Justine crossed her arms. “My mother took laudanum, Brandon. She was a very unhappy woman, and it offered her that acceptable, artificial haze of contentment you speak of. But underneath that fleeting bliss, her bleak disappointments with life, with herself, with me were still painfully obvious. I must say, now I understand that lost and agitated demeanor of hers. Those are my memories of her.”

  He raised his head. His eyes were fevered, bloodshot.

  “You wish to go backwards?” Justine asked, her voice cool. “Isn’t that what William wants?”

  He placed the small bottle on the table with a clank, letting out a guttural moan. She went to him and wrapped her arms around him, her body pressing into his.

  “You can do this,” she whispered.

  Brandon’s hands clasped hers. “Lock the bloody doors,” he breathed against her hair.

  He watched her as she stepped back towards the door which led out to the dining room and twisted the key, then to the back door which led to the garden and turned that key. He stalked towards her, pulled her into his chest, and his lips punished hers in a deep kiss. Her hands clutched at his waist, and the air surged from her system as his tongue plundered her mouth. He groaned, and dampness collected between her legs at the primitive sound.

  He jostled her back across the room until her rear pressed against the hard edge of the table. Her breath hitched in her throat as he lifted her up, and his hand swept over the surface. Tea cups and dishes crashed to the floor, the forks and spoons she had laid out earlier clattered somewhere in the distance, the cacophony adding to the chaos already exploding in her body. Her chest constricted at the sight of Brandon hovering over her like a hungry beast ready to devour her.

  He unfastened his breeches, then his hands drew up her skirts, and he wrapped her bare legs around his hips, his cold hands sending shivers across her fles
h. He spit into his fingers and brought them to her opening. She held her breath as his rigid shaft thrust into her, biting down on her lip as a stinging soreness flared inside her. His dark gaze held hers as he filled her slowly, his lips parting to take in air.

  A thrill seized her. Would it always be like this—this profound, blissful shock when he first entered her? Brandon groaned loudly, the sound echoing through the kitchen. He pinned her hands by her head, his face now closer to hers. “Give me all of you, Jus, I want all of you.”

  She held his wild gaze. Had she done this to him? Brought him to such hot, menacing desperation? He dragged his cock out and then impaled her body again, another low grunt tearing from his chest. He drove into her over and over, harder, quicker than before. He folded her knees against her chest, and a thousand sensations built and intensified inside her. She was all feeling, all sparks, all fire, burning, burning deep inside.

  She could forget like this.

  Yes, she could forget the loneliness, the resentment, the bitterness, the anger. This was new and satisfying, and hers, all hers, flowing through Brandon, flowing through her.

  This was a kind of joy, but she didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve Brandon.

  No. She should swerve out of its way.

  She held her breath and tore her eyes from him to fight the onslaught, but he wrenched her face closer to his, his other hand planted on the table for support. “Look at me, dammit. Don’t you dare fight this, Jus. I need you. Need you with me.”

  His hips ground against hers, demanding her participation in this primal dance. A helpless whimper escaped her mouth, and her fingers slid up into the thickness of his unruly hair, their eyes melding. His lips brushed the inside of her wrist as his hand went to her breast claiming her soft flesh. Justine’s back arched and she moaned, unable to control the rush of feelings and not wanting to any longer.

  “Yes,” he hissed. That undisguised hunger in his voice only spurned her on to embrace the mad rush of sensation. She did want this badly, just like Brandon. She wanted to feel alive, wanted to be possessed by him. Her hands clutched the surging muscles of his lower back, her insides squeezed around him. His chin grazed the side of her cheek as another wild cry wrenched from her.

  “Brandon!”

  His head reared up, and his body hardened and convulsed into hers. He buried his face in her neck as Justine went limp in his arms, her breathing labored. His one hand slid down her side to rest over the supple curve of her rear. His other hand tugged the material of her bodice out of the way releasing a nipple to his mouth. He sucked as if his need for her was still unsatisfied, and that tingling sparked over her flesh once again.

  “Oh, you can’t possibly,” she whispered hoarsely. “You’ve melted me already.” Her head tossed on the table, her body pinned down by his heavy weight. His mouth continued its attentions to her breast while he slipped a finger between her legs at their connection and then around and back to the rosette at her rear.

  She gasped, her hips jerking. “What are you doing?”

  “I want all of you Justine, every inch. And you’re going to give it to me.” His eyes glinted over her. His finger gently stroked the outside of her tight bud which hummed with anticipation, and then slid in just a bit. Her entire body tightened then quivered. The tip of his tongue slid a wet trail from her neck down to her breasts once more.

  Justine’s head rolled back onto the hard table, her breathing quickened. “You’re merciless.”

  “I am,” he murmured against her throat. His cock stirred inside her, gliding in and out of her slowly, as his fingers teased her rear. It was a perverse sort of heaven. There could be no more thinking, none at all, only feeling him moving inside her, filling her, filling all of her.

  “Look at me,” he said. Her eyes swirled in his. “Feel me inside you.”

  “It’s too much, too much,” she murmured. She raised a hand to his cheek as if it were a white flag. He kissed her palm then bit it gently, and she let out a low gasp.

  “I’m not letting you go. Hold onto me.” Brandon rocked deeper inside her. “You inspire me, Jus.” She surrendered.

  He suddenly released her of the pressure of his fingers, and sharp pleasure tore through them both. A snarl curled his lips as he hissed in air. Justine’s body shuddered, her eyelids squeezing shut.

  His hands gripped her wrists and fastened them to the table once again. She blinked up at him, trying to focus on his face. “Don’t ever talk to me about separating again,” Brandon said, his voice steady, sharp, like a commanding army officer. “This is where I want to be. With you. Inside you.” He nestled his cock deeper inside her. Her back arched against him, a cry escaping her lips, her body immobile under his firm grip. “This is all I know right now. And I like it.”

  Her eyes widened, her breath burst in and out.

  “Don’t ask me what I might want or what I might think I want,” he continued. “It’s very courteous of you really.” His voice was like acid in his own ear, sizzling with bone-melting clarity through the sensual fog. He dipped his face closer to hers and smelled the scent of lavender mixed with her sweat and the heady aroma of their desire rising from her throat. He inhaled that holy scent locking it in his memory.

  “I do appreciate it, but my brain doesn’t function according to the niceties any longer. All I know is that right here and right now, it’s you and me and this damned house. We shall continue to live here together. We shall restore Wolfsgate, get me healthy, deal with my cousin and my uncle, and enjoy each other. Do you understand, Lady Graven?” His tongue flicked against her trembling lower lip. “Do you agree?”

  She only nodded. Her neck slackened, and her head dropped back against the wood table once more. Brandon nipped the side of her face. He would hold off confronting her on her alleged virginity just yet. Frankly, he didn’t think he would be able to control his emotions if he heard the truth, whatever the hell it was. Bloody hell, he’d just taken her on the goddamn kitchen table. No, the virginity conversation could wait for now.

  This felt too damned good at the moment.

  He stretched out his hand to her.

  “What do you think?” Brandon asked. “Do you like it?”

  “I do. Very much.” She placed her hand in as she stepped up into the new curricle for their first ride to the village that afternoon. She settled into the seat next to him, and he signaled the horses with a flash of the reins. The two animals sprang forward pulling the carriage with them.

  In the village, they were rewarded with surprised and appreciative looks from the many passersby. Justine squeezed her gloved hands in her lap tighter together. She sometimes walked to the village to visit Annie’s grave, peruse the shop windows or run a few errands like an ordinary, everyday person, going unnoticed except for a few friendly smiles and greetings to those with whom she was acquainted. But she certainly had not made such an entrance in a Graven carriage for a very long time.

  Her gaze darted up at Brandon at the reins, sitting erect, his glossy black hair smoothed back with a tie. He was not paying any mind to the people, his somber focus remained on his horses and the road before him. A stream of wagons and carriages clattered over the cobbled streets, and the din of merchants’ cries advertising their wares or those selling cold and hot viands on the street corners filled Justine’s ears. A group of beggar boys pushed through the crowd and splashed in the mud and the many dirty puddles on the road. The bold, colorful signs which hung over each shop front competed with one another for attention.

  “The village certainly is no quiet hamlet any longer, eh?” Brandon said, a smirk on his face.

  They had an appointment with the tailor which Brandon had insisted upon immediately. Justine was thrilled by the prospect of new clothes at long last and felt the excitement of a child at Christmas bubble through her.

  Once in the store, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson regaled them with the latest in fashionable materials and designs. Having already come to the house to take their mea
surements, the tailors needed Brandon and Justine to decide on the final details. “Arrange for anything you want and more,” he whispered in her ear, his cool fingers touched her throat and lingered there. “For if you don’t, I shall choose for you.”

  She smiled at him as his thumb rubbed the side of her cheek sending tingles skittering across her skin. Brandon followed Mr. Thompson to the other end of the small shop which was crammed with bolts of fabric and ribbons dangling everywhere.

  Aside from truly needing the clothes, Justine wanted to make Brandon proud of her. It was now no longer a dark secret that she was Lady Graven.

  She ordered dresses for morning and daytime, for working about the house and the gardens, gowns for dinner parties and balls, outfits for riding, a new winter cloak. Deciding on new dressing gowns and nightdresses made her skin flush when Mrs. Thompson gushed over the fine imported silks and laces that had just arrived. The delicate fabrics flowed softly and coolly under the prickly heat of her hand. Her breath caught at the thought of Brandon’s fingers sliding over such ethereal material on her body.

  “Yes, those will do nicely,” she murmured avoiding Mrs. Thompson’s pointed gaze.

  Mrs. Thompson guided her as to which dimity, muslin, silk and wool fabrics were appropriate for each dress and outfit. Justine didn’t tarry too long over the endless bolts of fabric and didn’t allow Mrs. Thompson to continue fawning over her to choose the most expensive ones. Justine wanted to look elegant and sophisticated. She knew which colors flattered her, which didn’t, and made her choices quickly. She kindly requested that the more everyday pieces and at least one dinner dress be prepared for her as soon as possible. Mrs. Thompson’s face beamed as she took notes in her small book.

  Brandon sat back in an armchair. His eyes, which seemed almost an opalescent green in the small, crowded shop, were pinned on her. His face was somber, his long legs crossed casually at the knee, his one hand gripped the cane at his side. Other than his fingers twirling his ring, his body was motionless. He reminded her of a wild animal, albeit an elegant one, calculating, assessing, ready to spring. The breath caught in her throat.