Wolfsgate Page 20

  Would she ever have her fill of Brandon? She leaned her hot face against the cold damp window pane. This was the stuff of all those wildly popular poems she had read, wasn’t it? All these years going through Lord Jeremy’s library she had been so very curious what the great poets were on about, tortured verse after tortured verse. She was beginning to understand.

  Now it was time for her to come back down to earth. She needed to be cautious, although, as his wife it was her ‘duty to submit,’ as she had overheard her mother describe it often enough. But being with Brandon was no submission to duty, nor was it ‘bearable’ or ‘rather tolerable’ as her mother had also once remarked. No, Justine relished it. He engaged her in the act fully, demanded it of her, and it was exhilarating.

  She liked the two of them having that secret knowledge of each other; it was theirs alone. Either gentle or rough, it was a magnificent catapult to some great unknown, like a wild ride on a coach where she didn’t know the destination nor how to dress for the journey. He taught her that, and that satisfaction glowed in a secret place inside her.

  She realized that for men it was a necessary physical release as well as a diversion, but for her, it was a novel experience. She delighted in Brandon’s firm hands moving over her body, sinking into her flesh as if he were searching for something new every time and treasured what he discovered. Or how his lips would graze at that ridiculously sensitive spot behind her ear causing shivers to shimmer over her and linger long after.

  Justine liked the after part too. She savored that connection to him, neither of them speaking, only holding onto each other, letting the sensations wash over them. Being spent and fluid as honey on a hot summer’s day laying in his tight embrace was exceptional. Many times he would stay inside her after his movements had ceased, his fingers stroking her absently, the two of them enjoying their blissful haze. She felt cherished then, for once in her life.

  Her eyes squeezed shut. There, she had indeed made the mistake.

  She had taken that physical satisfaction between them as sentiment, thus giving it some sort of meaning in her mind. No, that was wrong. It had to be.

  Justine was certainly grateful she had an official home now, free of her stepfather and stepbrother’s reign. Surely, that was more than plenty for her. It was easy not to expect more because her entire life after her father’s death and her mother’s subsequent marriage to Richard had been about adapting herself to low prospects. She was accustomed to it and had managed well all these years by keeping her head down, keeping quiet when necessary, and making herself useful.

  Yes, she once had a dream, like a life with Andrew, but that had been dashed to bits and swept away, just like that fateful Cornish tempest had done to Brandon’s ship from Jamaica; all that was left was flotsam scattered over churning waters. No matter, she had persevered, as had Brandon. There was no need for petulance now. T’was only time wasted.

  She took in a deep breath as the coach drove through the high black iron gate. The large central tower of Wolfsgate rose in the hilly distance, its walls glowing by the light of torches lit for their return. Her fingertips rubbed across the foggy glass window of the coach to get a clearer glimpse.

  Brandon clenched his jaw as he poured himself another brandy.

  He had done it again. Pushed too hard.

  Once they’d arrived home she had muttered a barely audible but pleasant “good night.” A sharp pain sliced through his chest at the sight of her darting up the stairs. Now here he was once again, drinking his bitterness away in the parlor alone in the middle of the night.

  He threw himself in the cushioned armchair and rubbed his aching temple with one hand, balancing his full glass on his thigh. Their tussle in the coach had been hasty, and there had been a note of despair about her. Why? Perhaps he ought to simply keep away from her for a while.

  He wasn’t being fair. Always taking from her, demanding. Next time, if there was a next time, and there bloody well better be a next time, Justine would have to make the first move. She had to want it just as badly as he did. He would have to bear the wanting of her until then. Dammit, constant wanting.

  He gulped down the liquor, and it scalded his throat. Would the old Brandon have pushed so much? Perhaps he would have been more convincing, less harsh with his own wife. The old Brandon certainly would have enjoyed all the attention he had gotten this evening: the women’s stares, the men’s cool appraisals, Amanda’s thirsty solicitousness.

  Justine was right, of course. Amanda wanted him, but in a new, more demanding way, which had taken him aback. They weren’t flirtatious youngsters anymore, their whole lives abstractly ahead of them. She was a married woman now, a mother, and had a fine place in society. The damning part was she didn’t seem to mind making it obvious.

  She didn’t overdo it, just enough in that sophisticated way of hers. The tilt of her head, that slight smile, a touch of her hand on his arm here and there, the perfect double-edged repartee to elicit an appreciative laugh from him along with a lingering glance. The treacherous list went on and on with that woman. He unwound the tie from his hair and sunk his fingers into his scalp. Is that how it was done nowadays?

  She had showered him with her smile this evening, and he had been catapulted back to a time of glorious expectations and golden possibilities. Yes, her beauty was undeniable, and she obviously took great care with herself. Damn, that sort of thing must be a full-time occupation.

  He should feel flattered by the attentions of such a female. She did still appeal to him, but he had been…unmoved. He had looked into her blue eyes this evening, the eyes that he once found so irresistible, yet tonight he saw only shining glass.

  Justine’s dusky velvet eyes, though, glowed with a secret heat just for him. Rich brown eyes like the coffee he used to savor in Jamaica. He could taste that rich flavor on his tongue right now, that aroma filling his senses, calling him to life. But tonight, once they had entered their house, those intoxicating eyes had been cloudy and opaque in the light of her maid’s taper in the hall. He had done that, he had put that resistance there, that boundary.

  Congratulations.

  What did he expect from his poisoned brain and his polluted body bent on self-indulgence? He had spent most of the evening with Amanda and then lashed out at Justine like a jealous husband. Well, he was a jealous husband, wasn’t he? He exhaled heavily raising the glass to his lips, and the heady scent of Justine’s musk invaded his nostrils.

  He let out a groan. She was on his fingers still. Instantly the sound of her whimpers echoed in his ears and the memory of the silky feel of her slickness pulling his fingers in deeper overwhelmed him. His body was taut with need; now she was punishing him.

  Bugger.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  “LOOK WHAT I’VE BROUGHT YOU, PERSEPHONE.”

  Justine opened her palm, and her horse gobbled the pieces of apple and carrot she offered her. She murmured words of affection to the mare who snorted at her great fortune.

  Justine simply couldn’t sit still today. She wasn’t in the mood for a book, and frankly, she had gone through most of Lord Jeremy’s collection in the library by this point. Lady Caroline’s spinet was woefully out of tune in the drawing room, and anyway, plucking on it only seemed more like a chore than a pleasure. No, she wanted to be outside, filling her lungs with the fresh cold air of late autumn that was now blowing through the hills.

  Days had worn on and nights had dragged on. She and Brandon shared meals together or they didn’t. They often exchanged general information about their day without much eye contact. Frequently, Brandon was off riding or working with Davidson at the edges of the property and would have Mrs. Taggart, the new cook, prepare and pack them something cold to take along.

  Justine threw herself into cleaning out the garden to prepare it for the upcoming winter months. She picked as many herbs as she could and hung them for drying. She approved Taggart’s menu ideas and checked in with Molly about the hous
ekeeping and furniture repairs. Right now feeding her horse was just as much a pleasure for her as it was for the animal. Justine slipped her hand down Persephone’s sleek brown neck and the animal whinnied.

  Heavy footsteps and hard breathing from behind her raised the hair on the back of her neck. She turned quickly. Brandon led his horse into the stable and stopped when he saw her. His dark hair, free of its tie, was ruffled with the wind, his cheeks ruddy, and his eyes bright. His horse raised his head pulling at the reigns in protest at his master’s abrupt standstill.

  “You look well exercised,” Justine said.

  His lips quirked up. “Are you talking to me or the horse?”

  She let out a small laugh. She had missed this easy banter between them. “I meant you.”

  “I am trying to be disciplined with regular exercise and manual labor. Do you approve?”

  “I do. Very healthy.” She smiled at him. He was still, taking her in with his eyes. “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s just you, feeding your horse, not a care in the world.” He shook his head. “Last time I tried to show you how to do that you squealed and hid behind me, clutching at my coattails.”

  “I was ten years of age then. I’ve spent lots of time with horses over the years. And with Martin’s help I learned a lot and got over my fear. I enjoy spending time with them, caring for them.” She cast a glance at Brandon whose face had tightened. “Bring Knight here so I can give him some treats.”

  He led his animal over to her, his jaw firm. The smell of horse and of a very masculine, sweaty Brandon filled the space between them. She focused her full attention on the horse. “Hello, Knight.” Her hand brushed over the stallion as she offered him apple and carrot pieces which he eagerly munched. Brandon stood there watching them in silence, his hands on his hips. He grinned letting out a sigh as he turned and refilled the troughs with fresh water for both horses to drink from.

  “I was out at the eastern end today with Davidson,” he said. “The new gates look good.” Brandon rested his gaze on her, then leaned over and took the last pieces of apple and fed them to his horse. “You’re probably more familiar with the way it used to be than I am. You should come see the work that’s been done.”

  “I will,” she said, glancing up at him. “After all that exercise, I hope you’re famished. Molly showed Taggart how to make your favorite stew. They’re both looking forward to the grand presentation.”

  He let out a chuckle. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He leaned over to grab the brush that was hanging on the wall next to her, but he misstepped and lost his balance. His other arm shot out and went around her shoulders. His weight fell on her. Justine grabbed onto his torso, and he righted himself quickly, his eyes flashing over her.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Are you dizzy?”

  “No, it’s not that. Quick moves are a bad decision with this knee, especially after a lot of exertion. I keep forgetting. It’s getting better, but still not right.” His hands slid down to her waist and curled into the fabric of her dress. His gaze found hers then fell to her mouth. They stood there in silence, holding each other, the horses’ huffing and wheezing filling their ears.

  He averted his gaze, releasing her suddenly, and reached for the brush again. Her fingers dug into the folds of her skirts crushing the material as he removed the saddle from Knight. His hands rubbed over the animal’s hide in long, firm strokes as he brushed him.

  Justine’s brain ratcheted back years ago to when she had first entered this stable. Her first real encounter with a horse had been with Brandon. Richard had insisted she learn to ride properly, but she had been terrified of the great big animals he and William had in their possession. Brandon had been the one to take the time to introduce her to his own horse, her hand in his.

  “Don’t be afraid of the horse, Justine. You must at least pretend you aren’t, because if he feels that you’re afraid of him, he’ll be afraid of you.

  “Afraid of me?”

  “Animals can sense things much better than we humans, and they can tell a good person from a bad one. They know, Justine. He’ll see the good in you, just as the rest of us do. You show him you’re his friend, and he will be. It’s quite simple. Come now, try.”

  “Justine?”

  She blinked up at Brandon. “I was thinking of Midnight, your old horse.

  “Ah, Midnight. How he loved to run.”

  “You loved it too,” Justine said.

  “I did, it was a fine escape.”

  “You had taken me riding on him several times. He seemed so tall to me. I felt as if I towered over all of Wolfsgate on Midnight, that nothing could touch me.”

  A smile lit his lips. “I felt that way myself.” His soft grey-green eyes slid to hers, and her heart skipped a beat. “Another first time with me, eh?”

  Her face heated, and she averted her gaze, busying herself with rolling up the small feed bag. “I was so afraid of riding then. It was kind of you to have taken the time to get me started…riding…to get me used to the horse. It meant a lot to me.” Brandon’s hand stilled over his horse, his head tilted to the side. “Justine—”

  “You were a good cousin. I mean, you are…”

  His eyes glimmered over her. “Am I a good husband to you now?”

  “Am I a good wife?”

  Brandon took in a deep breath. “I can’t say I really know how husbands and wives are supposed to be.”

  “I can’t say I do either. I hardly remember my own father, and Richard and my mother weren’t much of an example.”

  “No, they certainly weren’t.” His face darkened. “I wish I had paid more attention to my parents.”

  “Lord Jeremy often spoke of Lady Caroline to me.” Justine’s face brightened.

  “Well.” Brandon averted his gaze. “We’re making this up as we go along, aren’t we? Why pile on unnecessary expectations?”

  Justine’s stomach dropped. “Oh, yes.”

  “What I mean is, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me.”

  “Oh. No, I don’t.”

  “Or obligated.”

  “I thought that was my line?”

  “It was.” Brandon moved closer to her, his hand sweeping up Knight’s neck. “But it’s apt here, so I’m using it.” The horse snorted, his head bucking up for an instant.

  Justine’s fingers sank into Knight’s silky mane. Brandon stood perfectly still, his gaze locked on hers. Her hand fell from the horse and slid up Brandon’s chest. Air escaped from between his lips.

  “I don’t feel obligated,” Justine whispered. “For me, it’s not…”

  Brandon wrapped his hand around hers holding it firmly to his chest. Every particle of her being was being absorbed by the steady beat of his heart under her hand, by his firm grasp, his eyes burning into hers.

  “I’m glad,” he said, his voice low. His fingers brushed a lock of her hair over her ear, and her insides tightened at the delicate contact. His beautiful face loomed over her, his body perfectly still. She missed him. Missed his touch, his deep voice, the very smell of him. His heavy gaze fell to her mouth once more.

  Was he waiting for her to kiss him?

  Justine brought her face closer and touched her lips to his warm ones. His breath clipped, his hand tightened over hers.

  Footsteps shuffled beyond them.

  “Forgive me, yer Lordship, I dinna know ye had returned.” Martin stopped dead in his tracks. “Pardon, I…”

  Brandon’s head jerked up.

  “What’s this?” Another clearer, far more elegant voice rang out behind Martin. “You two are quite the domestic types, eh? Charles sauntered further into the stable. “Who would have thought?”

  “Montclare,” Brandon said. Justine moved her hand from his chest, but Brandon kept it firmly in his grasp at his side.

  “Am I too late to dine with you?” Charles bowed his head and winked at Justine.

  “No, in fact, your timing is perfect.” Just
ine smiled. “I’ll just go let cook know we have a guest.”

  “Wonderful,” Charles said.

  She tried to take her hand back from Brandon, but he wouldn’t let go. She glanced up at him and, frowning, he finally released her.

  “We are invited?”

  Charles put down his fork. “Amanda, it seems, had such a wonderful time at the ball that she’s excited to have our little circle of yesteryear come together again. This time at her home.”

  Brandon handed the invitation to Justine.

  “Since I had stopped by there earlier, I offered to bring you the invitation myself.” Charles raised his wine glass. “You will come, of course?”

  “If my wife would like to,” Brandon said. “Justine?”

  She held the invitation in her hands studying the elegant handwriting. “I should like to go to my stepbrother’s house for dinner. I long to see my nephew.” She lay the invitation on the table.

  “Then we shall go,” Brandon said draining his glass.

  Charles grinned and leaned back in his chair. “There won’t be any dancing, but Amanda will surely play for us. William just bought her a new spinet. It’s quite fine and does her justice. Do you play, Lady Justine?”

  “When I was younger, but I confess I have not practiced in quite some time.”

  Charles’s one eyebrow shot up. “Ah well, newly married ladies have much more interesting amusements, now don’t they?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Quite so.”

  “Who’s being the hound now?” Brandon asked as he refilled his glass.

  “Couldn’t resist, Graven. Your bride blushes easily. It’s charming, I like it.” He raised his glass in her direction and drank.

  “Her charms are only for me to like, Montclare.”

  Justine’s gaze shot up at Brandon. Charles laughed as he refilled his glass and eased further back in his chair. “Quite right.”

  The great clock in the hall pinged and thumped out its even cadence, echoing through the whole house. Justine rose from her chair. “Gentlemen, I will leave you to your port.” Both men nodded as she bowed her head and left the room, her skirts swishing behind her.