Wolfsgate Read online

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his breath choppy, his eyes wild.

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Justine took him in her arms. His cold, damp flesh flinched under her touch for an instant then his arms tightened around her as he buried his face in her chest.

  “I can feel it inside me. I can feel it.”

  Her fingers ran through his thick hair then swept down his cheek to linger on his jaw. “Tell me what it’s like.”

  His weary eyes slid closed. “Too good, all warmth and softness. A lull so seductive, it promises everything.” He exhaled heavily and glanced up at her. “I’m sorry, Justine. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hoarse voice was so small, her heart seized. “Here I am helpless and broken again, with only myself to blame.”

  “Shh,” she whispered.

  He held onto her tightly, his breathing shallow. “I’ve disappointed you, and I probably embarrassed you, didn’t I?”

  “No, you did not. Do you remember anything from the other night at the assembly rooms?”

  He took in a deep breath and pressed a hand over his brow. “I remember ignoring Amanda. She had attempted to cast her net of allure early in the evening and got annoyed with me when I’d kept my distance. William seemed to take pleasure in his wife floundering on her own, and he ignored her as well. I chatted with other ladies who happened to be flitting about. I should have quit their dull company, but I lingered, intent on my final flourish. I wanted to make sure that Amanda understood that I was off her in order to more sweetly settle the knife in her chest with William as witness.” His hands shook slightly.

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does! I’ve disappointed you and that matters to me.” He pulled on his hair. “I’d begun to like waking up in the morning looking forward to a day full of prospects, not thinking only of that one thing, craving only that, being its slave. I’m a disaster.”

  Her fingers slipped through his damp hair. Her tense lips touched the side of his face. “You’re no such thing. Sit up. Drink some water.” He glanced over at the cup on the side table by the bed and sighed. “Am I nagging again?” She grinned in an effort to keep her voice light. “I am trying to reform, you know.”

  “Don’t,” he said, his eyes on her mouth. “I like it.” He pushed himself up, took the cup of water, and drank.

  “We’ll go for a walk outside later today if you have the energy. I’ve given the servants the day off, so we’re on our own today.”

  Brandon handed her the cup and sank back onto the bed once more.

  “Stay with me. Don’t go,” he whispered. “Please.” He closed his eyes, one long, sinewy arm hooked over his face. His other hand clasped Justine’s keeping it close to his chest.

  A BITTER TASTE FLOODED HIS MOUTH.

  He stared at the small empty bottle in his hands. The bottle that he’d kept hidden in the hat box in his dressing room. The bottle he regarded as an answer, a victory, a relief, was now nothing more than a relic of hollow, dirty disappointment, an accolade of shame in this hot, sweaty tournament with himself. He thought he could keep this little survival stratagem a secret, didn’t he? Just a drop here and there for that persistent ache in his leg and a little extra pleasantness besides. Had he taken it before the dance? He couldn’t remember now. For fuck’s sake, why couldn’t he remember?

  He marched back into their bedchamber and flung the bottle into the fire. He was weak and selfish in the face of that accursed tiny bottle; a burden to Justine, a millstone around her neck. He had dragged her down into his foul, polluted waters, while she was clean and clear as the crystalline turquoise sea of the Caribbean that had struck him with such awe.

  Maybe he should end this and put himself back on a boat to Jamaica. What the hell would that solve?

  Nothing.

  Any fantasies of running off or escaping were the narcotic talking, seducing him into crawling into a hole to languish in some artificial web of serenity. He climbed back into their bed and took her languid body in his arms, inhaling the warm scent of her skin, absorbing the weight of her.

  His father had put him on that boat to Jamaica in the first place in order to grow up, to learn the meaning of hard work and commitment to a goal, and to then be able to truly appreciate its rewards. Being an investor in a sugar plantation and sugar export operation was a new business venture for Lord Jeremy. He had wanted Brandon to learn the business firsthand and be his representative there, not merely to sit back in his armchair at Wolfsgate and amuse himself with the dividends.

  Brandon, of course, had considered it to be a vile, bitter form of exile. Only later had he understood. The estate had been in a shambles when his father had inherited. Brandon’s grandfather, Malcolm had been an extravagant sort and a great card player and had almost driven it into the ground. Lord Jeremy, however, with his single-minded determination and his business acumen had resurrected Wolfsgate and all the Graven holdings. Brandon had then reigned over it as its young prince, much to William’s great resentment.

  When Lord Jeremy had floundered in the early years trying to make sense of the mess his father had left him, Richard had been doing well on his own, and so William had become overly proud of his station in life. Even if Wolfsgate and its title could never be his, at least he and his father had their own wealth and social standing. But when Lord Jeremy’s wealth eventually came to greatly eclipse Richard’s, the brothers grew even more estranged, and William’s competitiveness with Brandon intensified.

  As Brandon grew older, Lord Jeremy must have seen the signs in him that reminded him of his own father. It burned him deep in his gut when his own son began to exhibit a casual disregard for the riches and the properties they had. After Annie died, Brandon’s interests had shifted towards superficial entertainments with his circle of friends and Amanda feeding his arrogant, juvenile sense of self-importance. Too many parties, too much drink, and those card games, so many card games.

  Brandon was Jeremy’s only child and the sole heir of Wolfsgate, and he refused to allow his son to piss it all away. Lord Jeremy had decreed that Brandon needed to prove himself worthy to be the Lord and heir of such an estate.

  After much argument, Brandon had gotten on that ship to the Indies, landed in Jamaica many weeks later and literally smelled poverty up close for the first time in his life. He noticed right away that the businessmen who brokered the operation on the island looked at him with derision and waited for him, the young, green nobleman, to make a fool of himself. He’d felt the shocking onus of disrespect for the first time in his life. Brandon’s charm and personality were of no worth there and that was jarring, a blow.

  He was on his own. He had gritted his teeth and took on the challenge to prove them and himself wrong. Couldn’t he be practical and responsible just like his father if he had to be? It was only then that instead of considering the responsibility of Wolfsgate as a nuisance, he began to see it as an opportunity, then a privilege, and later, an honor. Brandon learned everything he could about the business and found he actually liked it. Soon enough he began to offer his own ideas, a few of which had been approved and implemented much to his satisfaction.

  After two years in Jamaica, as had been Lord Jeremy’s terms, Brandon shook hands with his partners and the overseers and boarded a ship to return to England. He was eager to see Wolfsgate and his father once again. He wanted to share his triumphs and failures with him man to man and to finally make amends for his past behavior. But that splendid dream had been shattered into bits on the rocky coast of Cornwall in a violent squall.

  Brandon swallowed past the lump in his throat. That shipwreck had certainly swerved his life in a very unexpected and dark direction. It had deprived him of so much, yet it had brought him to Justine. She was his family now, and this time he would fight to preserve that family, to protect it, but he had to be strong and clear-headed to do that.

  Yes, she was his family, not just his cousin’s stepsister or his father’s sort-of-ward. No.

  She
was his wife, his other half in the typhoon that was his life. Not just a pretty accessory on his arm at social events or the prescribed female who would produce his heirs, she was his partner. He could converse with her, exchange ideas with her. And no matter what excrement he’d waded into like a muddy bog, she had been there with an outstretched hand to support him, tug him towards dry ground. Like she’d just done with this rotten relapse of his.

  She was his wife, his lover, and not just to provide relief or entertainment in his bed. No, it was much more than that. Christ, so much more than simply strokes of pleasure. His heart thudded in his chest. Being with her, in and out of bed, was a kind of sustenance. He needed that and only from her. He couldn’t imagine not wrapping himself around her, touching her in their bed in the stillness of the night, her soft breathing filling his ear, her warm skin against his.

  All they had was each other. His muscles tightened at the thought. He had been given a second chance at life, and that included the gift of Justine. He would do everything in his power never to disappoint her again.

  No, never again.

  Late in the afternoon of the next day the nausea had passed and the sweating and itchiness had begun to subside, but Brandon’s restlessness and anxiety were still intense after only a short, uneasy sleep the night before.

  “I’m no physician, but I truly believe fresh country air can cure most ills,” said Justine. “Come, let’s have tea then go for a walk.” He agreed.

  The skies were thick today with that dull, white grey that signaled snowfall was imminent. Their boots crunched over the frozen twigs and rocky soil on the cold, hard ground. Brandon squeezed her arm. “You are not the girl from town any longer, are you, Justine? You enjoy the country very much.”

  Justine smiled. “When mother and I first came to Wolfsgate, it seemed like a fantasy come true, a veritable wonderland.”

  Brandon let out a laugh. “Did you expect fairies to be flying about?”

  “Actually, I expected ghosts and savage beasts amidst castle ruins upon hearing the name ‘Wolfsgate.’ I was sure it would be the most frightening place in all of England. But when we arrived I was thrilled to find it quite the opposite.”

  “I think the place is full of ghosts and savage beasts,” he murmured.

  “Maybe it is full of ghosts, but not savage beasts. Not anymore.”

  He sighed. “I believe Wolfsgate has better prospects with you as its mistress.”

  “I must confess I can scarcely believe I am its mistress. I still remember the thrill of first seeing the gardens blooming in those rich purples and blues, the lush green meadow, the hills, the creek, the extraordinary folly, the mysterious woods at the edge of the property. All of it filled my starved imagination. Before Mother married Richard we had been living in a small house in London. It was dark and narrow, and I was confined to the nursery. That’s all I remember of it. Richard and William’s house in town was grander but quite formal. Wolfsgate was all wide open spaces filled with light and color and endless promise.”

  The glow from her eyes radiated warmth through him. His mouth went dry. “Promise?”

  “There was so much to discover. Annie always knew where to go spend a few precious hours to run, play, to hide. We could do and imagine whatever we wished. Just to breathe the air here was pleasure enough for me. It must sound ridiculous to you, but there it is.”

  “It’s not ridiculous at all. I’m glad you feel that way about Wolfsgate.” He squeezed her arm. Justine’s eyes darted up at him. Something in his chest caught at the sight of her eyes sparkling with excitement and her cheeks flushing that shade of deep rose.

  He decided he wanted to give that back to her, more than anything in the world. To make Wolfsgate a pleasure, a sanctuary for her once again, and not the prison it had become for her. Brandon’s ribs squeezed tight. He would make their home her land of enchantment once again. He removed the glove from her hand and kissed her fingers. She smiled at him.

  “Wolfsgate has been your refuge,” he said. “I envy that, for I resented it for quite some time. Mother died here and later Annie, and it became infected with sorrow for me. Father chose to deal with his pain with work. He was always working, always so busy. Once I got older I only itched to escape it and all the responsibilities it suddenly required of me.” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head.

  “Brandon—” Justine tightened her grip on his hand.

  “I assumed that everything would be waiting at my pleasure. I thought I would find the estate, the house, Amanda, even Father in the same condition I had left them. Imagine.” He scoffed. “What an idiot I was. No plans, just whims. Father, of course, had offered me a plan.” He let out a sigh. “And part of me hated him for it.”

  “You followed his plan. And you did well.”

  He took in a gulp of air. “I must have been a thorn in his heart. I regret that exceedingly.”

  “He was proud of you. He loved you, Brandon,” she said. His gaze fell on her. It was so simple for her, these emotions, her belief in them.

  Justine let out a laugh and held out a hand in the air. She looked up at the sky. “It’s snowing!”

  Thick flakes floated in the cold air and bunched on their eyelashes.

  “We’re close to the stables,” Brandon said.

  “Are you tired? We could go home.”

  “Come, Justine.” He tugged on her arm.

  The snow fell thicker coating their cloaks and hair in white sparkles. Brandon pushed open the heavy wooden door.

  “What’s this?”

  A grey mare and a dark chocolate stallion stared at them. Persephone and Knight stamped their feet in their stalls.

  “New horses for my lady,” Brandon said. “Now that you ride so well I thought you might like—”

  Justine lunged at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly. She remained in his arms this time, and he pressed her into his chest. His eyes closed as he took in her rose scent and her little breaths. Her wild heartbeat drummed straight through his own.

  She planted a kiss on his mouth.

  “You’re welcome, love.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She wiped at her eyes.

  A faint smile curved his lips. “I wanted to surprise you. I even swore Martin to secrecy.”

  Justine approached the new horses. “Aren’t you beautiful?” She murmured to the mare. Her hand reached out and stroked the animal’s neck. Brandon stood beside her watching her.

  “Come, Justine.” He led her to a corner of the stables where bales of hay were stacked. “We can admire our new beasts from here.” He pushed a few bales to the side, removed his coat and shook it out then laid it down over the hay dry side up. Justine took off her cloak and shook it out as well. He took her hand, tugged her down to the hay, pulling her close, and they settled on their backs, her cloak over them, listening to the extreme quiet of the snowfall and to the horses whinnying softly and stamping in their stalls.

  “A country symphony.” Justine laughed turning into his chest.

  “Now there’s enchantment for you.”

  “Hmm. Brandon, tell me about Jamaica. I can’t even begin to imagine it.”

  “Color, that’s what I remember. Color shimmering in the heat of the constant sun. The tall, lazy palm trees, the unusually shaped mountains thick with green, the bright, colorful clothes the natives wore. Of course, the deep dark color of their skin and their blinding smiles were something to behold. They are a joyful people, and it was quite a switch to get accustomed to, I can tell you. I liked it. Singing and laughter could be heard all hours of the day and night.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “It is, yet it struck me as so very odd in the beginning. Damn me, that heat was overwhelming, sticky, oppressive. But then there are the winds coming in from the sea that fill the house with their hazy energy. Bathing in those impossibly clear, blue-green waters was physic enough. And so much fruit, fruit of all sizes and colors. Fruit with eve
ry meal, in almost every dish. Never tasted anything like it before.” He chuckled. “Spicy and sweet together.”

  “That I would like to try.”

  His gaze heated over her. “I think we already have, don’t you?” She made a small noise in the back of her throat, and he shifted her in his arms. “Tell me something,” he said, his blood quickened at the sight of her parted lips.

  “Yes?”

  “The other day when we were together in the study, I got the distinct impression you needed to exorcise some sort of ghosts on that desk. Am I correct?”

  Justine bit her lip as her hand smoothed down his shirt. Brandon squeezed her arm. “Justine?”

  “William worked in there a lot, and I grew to hate being summoned there to be informed of some new turn of events regarding my future. I never knew what was coming next nor how it would affect me. It is where Richard and William told me I was to marry Sir Wallace, and also where they informed me of my having to marry you.”

  “So it was an exorcism then?” His lips brushed the side of her hair. She nodded and settled into his chest. A low chuckle escaped his throat. “Did we expel the ghosts?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Any other rooms in the house need exorcising?”

  She pinched his waist. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Ow! Absolutely not. As your husband it is my responsibility to relieve you of any burdens, is it not?”

  She raised herself on her forearms and met his amused gaze. He brushed her generous lower lip with his thumb. “Tell me,” he whispered.

  “The wine cellar.”

  His eyes narrowed. “The wine cellar? Why?”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “I will tell you after you relieve me of that burden.”

  “Whatever my lady requires.” His one hand wrapped around her neck, and he pulled her to him and took her mouth in a languorous kiss. “I am most happy to comply.” His lips dragged across her jaw. “To submit.” He kissed her throat. “To yield.” His greedy hands found her breasts and tugged away the fabric at her bosom. “To satisfy her every desire.”