Wolfsgate Page 16

  He grabbed her arms and pulled her into his chest. Her lavender scent drifted over him reminding him of his fondness for her, his bloody weakness for her, or was it purely a burning, uncontrollable need for her?

  “Innocent kisses, eh? If I see him here buzzing about you again, I will break his neck, do you understand?”

  “Brandon?” She raised a hand to touch his face.

  He pushed her away and marched off, his hair whipping in the breeze. He didn’t want to listen to explanations or excuses anymore. His head hammered with every heavy step of his boots on the hard ground. He flexed his fingers and curled them into fists. He had to regain control over his rage before he did or said something he would later regret. To do that he had to get away from her.

  What he really needed was a fix. Hell yes, that would surely help.

  Locks of her unruly hair fell loose from her kerchief, and she swatted them out of her face. Trying to appease both men had her head spinning. “Why won’t he listen to me?” Justine muttered under her breath. “Of course, why should he listen to what I have to say after hearing Andrew’s tirade?”

  There was no telling what dark, unresponsive mood Brandon might sink into now and then be beyond her reach for some time. She ripped the kerchief from her hair as she replayed the look on his face over and over again in her mind—anger laced with hurt. Her throat closed. Her need to keep him safe overrode her annoyance.

  “Brandon! Brandon, wait!”

  She ran after him and finally stumbled in front of him, a hand on his arm, gulping in air. A grimace etched his scarred face, his eyes were red and glassy.

  “Please—”

  “You could have had Andrew, Justine. The young, genteel gentleman.” His hands dug into her hair, pulling through the ropy strands, tugging her head back to face him. “You were denied him because of me.”

  His anger had dissolved into guilt in the hundred yards he had marched off from her.

  “Not because of you, Brandon. Because of William and Richard.”

  “Because of me.”

  “And what are you?” she asked. “An ogre? A hideous, multi-headed dragon breathing fire?”

  “Yes, I’m breathing fire.” His hands slid down to her torso gripping tightly. “And I’m burning you. My family has burnt your life to ashes.”

  “I’m not ashes. I’m right here.” She had to say it, had to give him something to move forward, like he gave her in their bed over and over again, freeing her, making her feel alive and wanted. She raised herself up on her toes and kissed his lips. “I need your fire.”

  His hands slid down her back to her rear, pulling her into his embrace. Justine absorbed his rapid heartbeat into her own chest, and the hardness between his legs pulsed straight to her core. He claimed her mouth, and that aching hunger for her husband snaked right through her. He let go of her suddenly, pulled her arm, and marched her across the green. “Brandon, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

  He ignored her and kept charging down the hill then through the grove of trees at the edge of the park towards the great oak tree. They entered under the thick green umbrella of the enormous ancient oak, its leaves and branches flapping against Justine’s face and shoulders. Here they once used to play house and attend imagined fancy dinner parties with William, Annie, Amanda and Andrew years ago. Now, under its vast, shady canopy Brandon lifted her up in his arms, hooked her legs around his waist and pushed her up against the massive trunk.

  His eyes fell to her parted lips taking in air. “You’re my wife now.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m your…” Her breath left her as he unfastened his breeches. The harsh, irregular bark of the tree jabbed against her back, but she didn’t care about the discomfort. It reminded her she was alive. Her heart pounded, her every muscle tightened. His frenzied, wordless need for her thrilled her. He lifted her higher.

  Yes…

  There…

  Oh, for the love of…

  His cock pinned her to the tree, and she groaned out loud, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

  “Say it. Say it, dammit,” he demanded, his breathing heavy.

  “I am your wife.”

  “Yes.” He thrust inside her again, then again.

  “Yours Brandon, only yours.” Her head jostled against the craggy bark as he plunged inside her over and over. Her lungs squeezed for air, her head whirled with a rush of emotion as his grey-green eyes pierced hers.

  “They’ve tried to take everything else from me,” he breathed.

  Not me. Never.

  Quicker and more frenzied he drove into her, grinding his hips against hers. She adjusted herself in his arms, and the steady sting of pressure inside her thankfully shifted and transformed into waves of mounting pleasure. Yes, she needed this too. She needed to let go.

  Simply let go.

  The cold breeze dried her lips as she cried out with every punishing thrust of Brandon’s hips. Her fingers locked in his thick, damp hair at the base of his neck. His breathing grew more ragged and sharp, and his one hand gripped her bare bottom so tightly it throbbed, but she welcomed the pain.

  She deserved it for years of hurt stamped on Andrew’s face.

  She deserved it for the eerie shadows haunting Brandon’s eyes.

  Every thrust burned, inflaming her further, casting her over the edge along with him. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, her heart jamming in her chest as her release ripped through her, her head scraping against the trunk of the tree. Brandon’s eyes squeezed shut as he convulsed into her.

  They remained suspended together, speechless, unable to move, only clinging to each other through a haze of perspiration and raw satisfaction. Brandon released her from his tight grip and helped her find her footing. He stumbled back. Justine’s shaky hands smoothed down her skirts and adjusted her bodice.

  “Are you angry with me still?” she asked as she ran her fingers through her hair. He stood rooted to the spot watching her thick mass of coppery tresses tumble past her shoulders. “Brandon?”

  “I am having a hard time believing what you say about Andrew for he is behaving as if you spurned him last week and not years ago. If his feelings are still so intense for you, how is it yours are not so for him?” He inhaled deeply and slid his hand up and down his chest. “What is it Justine? A few turns between my legs and you’ve forgotten all about him? Damn, I must be good.”

  She drew nearer to him. “You and I are good together, Brandon, that’s what I know. I could have said no to you the first time, when you asked me if I wanted you, but I have chosen to live. Your return home is a whole new world for me and for you, especially for you. And even though this union was forced upon us, I have chosen to take this second chance at life, and I am content.”

  He tilted his head at her, his eyes murky pools of seawater, revealing nothing.

  “I enjoy being with you, Brandon,” she breathed, her face burning. “Is that wrong?”

  Her words seared through his chest.

  His shoulders relaxed, and that strange sensation unfurled in his chest, smoothing the coarse edges of his soul. Christ. He’d just taken her hard up against a tree in broad daylight proving once again he was a right selfish bastard and she deserved better. Yet here she was, unruffled, her face flushed, eyes bright, telling him she bloody well enjoyed it and wanted more.

  The breeze had shifted and a cool rush of air swirled between them. He let out a sigh as he brushed his knuckles over her pink, warm cheek. “No, it’s not wrong, Jus. It’s very good.”

  “Was there not a long Turkish carpet here in this hallway?”

  Brandon and Molly stood outside of Justine’s old room surveying the long hallway. “The opposite hall has its carpet, but this hallway has none,” he said.

  “Yes sir, its twin was here for many years,” Molly replied. “But Martin had to take it out a long while back.”

  “Take it out? Why?”

  “Said Lady Justine had tripped on it and fallen. It was quite fraye
d at the edges after all these years, got ripped, he said.”

  Brandon’s mouth settled into a firm line. “Martin has helped out here quite a lot, eh Molly?”

  “Boy’s had it hard, sir. His father drunk himself to death with gin, then he lost his mother and sisters to the fever. Whenever we needed young, strong hands, I would send for him, and he would come right over. Did a fine job with the horses and the stable. I’d give him a few coins and some food to take home with him.”

  Brandon’s face tightened. Young, strong hands indeed. “That was good of you, Molly.” His gaze returned to the bare wood floor of the hallway. “I will have to buy another carpet then, for the winter is upon us.”

  “Very good, sir.” Her crystal blue eyes widened ever so slightly. “Would you like your tea now, my lord?”

  “Yes I would. I’ll go wash up and be down shortly. Is Lady Graven about?”

  “She’s just going over a few things in the pantry, sir.”

  The days had passed with much activity around the estate. Both Brandon and Justine were pleased with the progress that had been made. Every afternoon Molly and Davidson reported to their master and mistress on what had been accomplished that day, all four reviewed what needed to be done the following day, and each tiring week wore into the next.

  After they had finished their supper that evening, Brandon and Justine retired to the parlor where Katy, the new parlor maid, had lit a fire for them. Brandon sank back into the old leather armchair and drank a brandy while Justine sat on the settee at his side and went through several pieces of mail that had arrived for them.

  A smile curled the edges of her lips. “It would seem word has spread regarding your return.”

  “Hmm?” Brandon rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Do tell.”

  “Lord and Lady Marchmain send their regards and cordially invite you to a ball on Friday next.”

  “Remind me?” he asked.

  “Marchmain House is around the hill from Crestdown where there reside three unmarried daughters.”

  “Ah, the ones with the same sounding names, eh?”

  “Very good, Lord Graven. Mariah, Mavis and Marianne.”

  “There, you see?” He glanced at her. “My brain is not completely boiled.”

  “No, not completely.” She grinned at him.

  He chuckled as his thumb rubbed the thin rim of the glass. “A ball, eh? Would you like to go?”

  Justine shrugged. “Would you?”

  His forehead creased as he took the invitation from her and scanned it. “Seems they don’t know we’re married.” He tapped the heavy paper which had only his name written on it. “Yes, we should go, make an entrance, and introduce ourselves to proper society once more.” He dropped the invitation on the table at his side. “You can show off one of your new gowns.” He offered her his brandy glass. She took it and sipped on the amber liquid as she gazed into the fire. He put his hand on her knee and squeezed it. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  “I would very much like to go.” Justine swallowed the last of the liquor. “I just hope you are ready for it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Seeing William and Amanda again. Remember, you foiled his grand scheme.”

  “Oh no, not I. You did that all on your own, Lady Graven.” Brandon smirked and leaned closer to her, his hand stroked up her thigh.

  She met his gaze. “Yes, but you’ve taken back control of the estate. The money is there. He must be very annoyed with the both of us.”

  “Good. I look forward to that annoyance very much.”

  “That is what I’m concerned about.”

  “Why? Do you think I will lose my temper?”

  “I don’t want anything bad to happen, Brandon.”

  “You’re really that concerned?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he were to orchestrate a scene with you in public simply to goad you or slight you socially.” She sighed heavily. “Please keep your distance from him. At the very least, don’t do or say anything to provoke him.”

  “He deserves to be punished, Justine. I will find a way.”

  She refilled the brandy glass and handed it to him. “Brandon—”

  “Stop worrying.” He leaned back into his armchair again and stared into the fire. “You had asked me once if Amanda and I were ever engaged. Although I had never asked her, not even made a promise, I had simply assumed we would marry one day. We all took life for granted then.” He let out a low chuckle. “The foolishness of indulged youth. We thought life would automatically be what we wanted of it. It showed us, eh? A right kick up the arse and then some.”

  “You two might have been married now if—”

  “Amanda is married to William.” Brandon took a swig of his drink.

  “She was most distraught when news came to us that you were lost.”

  “And was William her constant companion in their mutual grief at my loss?” Brandon leaned his head back against the sofa.

  “I suppose,” she murmured.

  He stretched out his legs. “She wouldn’t have married William if she didn’t want him, Justine. She’s headstrong that way. Furthermore, she’s always liked immediate gratification. Never had much patience.” Brandon turned back to the fire, and they both sat in silence. “Are they happy together?” he asked.

  “I can’t say as I never really see them. Once briefly here and then a dinner at their home. I’ve only seen their son at his christening.”

  Brandon turned to her. “That’s uncivil.”

  A shadow crossed her face. “It suited me just fine.”

  “Did it?”

  “Yes. I was glad to be left in peace.”

  “I certainly don’t leave you in peace.”

  “That’s different.” Her velvety eyes softened. “That I like.”

  Brandon put down his drink and took her hand in his. He pulled her into his lap and kissed her gently, eliciting a soft cry from her throat. His fingers loosened the fichu at her chest and found the swell of her breasts underneath, then yanked at her bodice tugging it loose.

  “Your hair,” he breathed. “Take down your hair, Jus.”

  Her hands flew to her hair, and she released the many pins holding up the sides, the curly strands falling over her back. His fingers swept through her thick locks, its flowery fragrance drifting over him.

  “I want you naked right now.” His hands went underneath her skirts and stroked her warm skin.

  “Aren’t we going to go upstairs?” she asked, her eyes round.

  He shook his head. “Naked, Lady Graven. Now.”

  His fingers worked to unbind her stays, tugging and dragging at the thick ribbon. She looked down to inspect his work, her breath stalling and catching with each sharp movement. “Damn, I can’t see!” he muttered and she let out a laugh and turned in the direction of the fire so he would have more light. He glanced up at her, and her eyes glowed in the flickering light, her tongue darting over her lower lip.

  His heart pounded as he finally set her free.

  “Stand up.”

  She quickly stood with her back against him and he tugged down her skirts until they dropped to the floor then swiftly pulled the muslin shift over her head and tossed it. He finally slipped his hands around her bare waist and cupped her breasts. They both groaned as she leaned back into his chest, her hands covering his, pressing in.

  She turned to undo his necktie, but he pushed her hands away, shaking his head. Her eyes flashed at him as he pulled her down on the carpet. His mouth laid a wet trail of discovery from her breasts down to her belly, as his hands, rough and callused from the work he had been doing, grazed her smooth skin, abrading any diffidence from her.

  Brandon reached for the glass of brandy and tipped it over her. Justine gasped as a stream of liquor trickled over her flesh. He licked at the amber liquid pooling across her breasts and spilling down her middle as she writhed under him. He reached again for the glass, and she held her breath as
he drank and then leaning over her, his eyes catching the light from the fire, he drizzled the brandy from his mouth over her mound down into her silken cleft.

  “Brandon…” She moaned and raised her hips. “You are wicked.” Her breathing grew ragged as he licked at the amber liquid streaming over her flesh. He sucked on the deliciously swollen button of her core and relished her salty taste which now mingled with the warm, sweet liquor. His hands kneaded her rear, bringing her closer to his mouth, the need to consume her overwhelming.

  She shuddered, and that loud, undisguised moan he wanted to hear finally escaped her throat. His hunger for her roared through him, and he shoved her legs apart wider, gently biting the smooth inside of her thigh. He glanced up at her as he blew air over her lush wetness. Her eyelids fluttered, and her lips parted.

  His tongue swirled through her delicate flesh. “Beautiful quim,” he murmured. “Pink and wet and all mine.”

  He hadn’t had her in days. With all the heavy physical work about the property, he had been too damned exhausted and so had she. He had missed her. Very, very much. He stripped himself of his shirt. “What do you want, Jus? You tell me what you want, anything, and I’ll give it to you.”

  She sat up and helped him remove his breeches. “I want to pleasure you.”

  His lungs constricted. Speechless. Justine pulled herself on top of him, and he adjusted her thighs around his as she planted soft kisses across his jaw, at his collar bone. Her hands slid into his hair as she kissed him on the corner of his mouth, her beautiful breasts rubbing against his chest. She looked into his eyes, and he saw it flash across her gorgeous face. Uncertainty.

  Brandon to the rescue, my love.

  His hands circled her breasts, his lips nuzzling them gently, exploring, kissing, nipping at the soft flesh. Her body relaxed in his hold. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her damp skin as he guided her hand to his shaft. His veins screeched to life as his cock pulsed under her firm touch. A moan heaved from his parted lips as they stroked him together. “Bloody hell, Justine.” Together they placed him at her very wet opening. “Take me inside you,” his voice rasped. Her hands clutched his shoulders as she lowered herself, and he filled her slowly, his hands gripping her hips to control her first movements. She moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed.