Wolfsgate Page 36

  She held her breath as he stretched out next to her on the bed bringing their entwined hands to his chest, his molten grey-green gaze melded with hers.

  “The passion I feel for you when I touch you deep, when I’m moving inside you, isn’t just what my cock needs from a woman. It’s what I need from you, from your sweet body and your beautiful spirit,” he whispered close to her ear. “We are lovers, you and I. Between us it’s gentle and wild, frenzied and sweet. It’s good, and we make that together.” His warm lips brushed her ear, and her legs fidgeted under the covers.

  “That’s what we are Jus—lovers, husband and wife, partners in this enterprise called life. We need to hang onto it.” He leaned up on an elbow over her, his warm eyes soft and full. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked. “Tell me you understand.”

  She nodded, her eyes wet.

  “Say it.”

  “I understand,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Do you want it too, Justine?”

  Her chest heaved. “Yes. I want it.”

  His fingers gently tugged at the bodice of her nightdress and he stroked the warm satiny skin along her collarbone.

  “Know this, Justine,” he whispered. “When I made you mine that very first time, whatever came before simply fell away.”

  She let out a whimper, and it set his heart spinning.

  “And the baby,” Brandon’s lips formed a smile against her cheek. His hand traveled under the thick quilt and down her torso to rest on her belly. “Oh, Jus,” he sighed. “There aren’t words to describe that. At least I haven’t found them yet.”

  The smile lingered on his lips, its warmth radiating over her skin like the hot summer sun. He snapped a small flower from the bouquet and tucked it in her hair, then his finger traced the edge of her face down to her chin. The tears finally escaped her eyes, and her fingers curled into the thin wool fabric of his sleeve.

  His heart seized. “What is it, love?”

  “After I fell, I heard the wolf howling in the woods,” she whispered. “I heard him, Bran. I felt him with me, and for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. It was a comfort, because I knew.”

  “What did you know?”

  “I knew you would come for me.”

  “Jus,” he murmured as his tongue caught a teardrop against her inflamed cheek.

  Her fingers released their grip on the flowers, and her hands tucked around his middle. “Hold me, Bran,” she breathed in his throat.

  A bitterly cold wind blew every so often to remind him that high winter had arrived, and he should not be outside for too long, but it could not be helped. He hadn’t gone to his uncle’s funeral, he had brought his wife home to Wolfsgate instead. Today he had wanted to see his uncle’s grave. To know that just as Richard was buried in the ground, so were the horrible events of that night. His gloved hand brushed over a wing of Annie’s stone angel as he turned to leave.

  Charles waited for him by his horse. “Everything go as planned?” Brandon asked.

  “Yes, he got on the ship. We stayed until it sailed.” Charles’ lips pulled in and settled into a firm line.

  “Good.”

  “How is our happy couple?”

  Brandon sighed. “William’s altered. I suppose killing your own father does that to you. Not to mention having your son witness it.”

  “For God’s sake, I don’t think I shall forget it,” Charles muttered. “He could have killed the boy. And Lady Graven? Is she home now?”

  “Yes she’s home and doing better.” Brandon unfastened the reins of his horse from the post.

  “May I see her?”

  Brandon only tilted his head at Charles.

  “Please, Graven. I would like to see for myself that she’s doing better since her fall.”

  “Would you now?” Brandon smirked at him as he mounted his horse.

  “I do feel a measure of responsibility here, Graven. I should have woken up to it sooner, then maybe William wouldn’t have gone directly after Justine. They both played me for their own purposes, and I foolishly allowed it.”

  “That’s who you are though, Charles. A player.”

  Charles let out a huff. “I want to reform. Am I not allowed?”

  Brandon leaned forward in his saddle, a grin passing over his lips. “Montclare, For some reason my wife likes you and has even asked about you, so I will not deny your request. Come along. Georgina’s with her now.”

  “Oh?” Charles pulled his frock coat tighter about him under his cloak and mounted his horse.

  Brandon’s lips twitched. “Yes, which means, you will grovel to them both and beg forgiveness for your horrid behavior, and I will be greatly entertained by the spectacle.”

  Charles grinned.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MY LOVE?”

  Justine’s hand jumped to her throat where earlier she’d had Lizzie clasp her new emerald necklace. “Admiring your Christmas present.”

  A smile curled the edge of his mouth. “I came to say goodnight. I know it’s late, but I still have some correspondence to go over.” He stared at the necklace. He stared at her staring at the necklace in the looking glass.“You like it?”

  “Very much.”

  He absorbed the warmth radiating between them. Her broken arm had healed, but was still a discomfort. The small scars on her temple had whitened now and were barely visible. She never complained about them, his beautiful, un-vain wife, but they bothered him. Those tiny scars reminded him of all that she had endured. His lips touched her temple as his hand pressed in on her lower back.

  “Brandon, do you think Martin will be happy in Jamaica?”

  “He’s a hard worker, Justine, and quite responsible for one so young. There his hard work will be rewarded accordingly, and I know I can trust him. That’s extremely important to me and a huge relief, because I’m not sure if I will be able to brave crossing that ocean and go myself again.

  “You told him to write immediately upon arrival?”

  “Yes, to keep you and Mrs. Shaw calm. He’ll let us know that he’s still in one piece and found all as he should. It’s been over a month since he left.

  “Then another such before his letter arrives here, I suppose,” Justine murmured. He squeezed her hand.

  He found he liked being able to give her assurances about Martin, pleased that he could honor the sincere bond the two of them shared, even though Justine was not completely aware of its true profoundness.

  “I’d like to see it one day, you know. See it with you.”

  He grinned. “See what?”

  “Jamaica. I want to see coconuts dangling from palm trees and feel the sun on my skin and smell the sea from every window, and sleep outside on a veranda in the breeze.” She let out a soft laugh and turned back to face the looking glass.

  Brandon closed his eyes. Her laugh was a sacred chime that echoed in his chest signaling harmony, tranquility. He moved closer to her, and her rose fragrance shifted around him.

  “I can hardly believe Christmas has come and gone, New Year’s as well,” she said.

  “Perfect,” he murmured. Two of his fingers stroked the emerald gemstones at her throat.

  “It is. And yet I had no present for you, Brandon.”

  “Justine, you’ve given me the best present of all,” he murmured. His hands went around her waist and slid down below her belly. Her roundness was now detectable. “The absolute best.” Brandon held his breath. It was the first time he had touched her so intimately in a long, long while; since her accident, since she finally, finally told him everything. She leaned back against him. “Are you quite tired this evening?” he asked her, his mouth at her ear.

  “No, I had a long nap this afternoon. Why?”

  He brushed back the hair from her shoulder and planted a kiss on a fading bruise on her smooth skin, his eyes darting up at her in the glass. “I thought you might like to exorcise the wine cellar this evening? Or perhaps my old bedchamber?” His hands swept up her torso and cupped h
er full breasts stroking them with his thumbs. “Gently, of course.”

  Justine bit her lip, her hands covering his at her chest. “When will you be finished with your correspondence, my lord?”

  Brandon had woken up early, shards of the rose dawn darted through openings in the dark curtains covering their windows. His fingers trailed a lazy pattern on Justine’s naked body sprawled next to his, the bedlinen twisted through her legs and arms as they were every time. His hand found the scar on her lower back. He leaned over and kissed it then traced it with his tongue. Her beautiful body stretched against his, and he smiled to himself.

  His hand traveled over her rear, her hips, and then sank in the heat between her legs. He couldn’t help himself, he wanted her all the time. Giving her pleasure especially excited him; he lost himself in it. She mewed in her sleep, her lower body twisting towards his hand. He pushed back the covers and spread her legs wider, her one knee falling open for him. He slid his body down the bed, the promise of her musk enflaming his hardening cock as he kissed and sucked on her gently.

  That excruciating surge of anticipation beat through him as he savored her panting, her hips rocking up to meet his demanding mouth, her fingers gliding into his hair, tugging, making his scalp tingle. Her silken flesh pulsed against his tongue, and she cried out his name. He smiled as he licked and softly bit his way up the flesh of her smooth thigh, her swollen belly, her luscious breasts, to her pleading lips. Her arms wrapped around him.

  “Good morning, my Lady Graven,” he whispered. She kissed him deep. “Bloody hell, I miss being inside you.”

  “I miss it too,” she breathed.

  He stroked her full breasts, bringing one then the other to his mouth. “Look how they’ve changed. Sweet Jesus, how will they be months from now, do you think? More to look forward to.” He suckled the tips, his tongue lashing over the hardened, glistening nipples.

  “They feel different too. Oh, when you do that…” She squirmed in his embrace.

  A soft chuckle uncurled in his throat. “Are you hungry for your husband, my lady?”

  “Very hungry, my lord.”

  He moved down her body once more and found her, drinking deep of this rich wine.

  Brandon raised himself up, his liquid gaze bathing her. His beautiful eyes were no longer haunted, no longer withdrawn, nor cold. He took her in his arms and held her as she settled. “I love you, Brandon,” she confessed against the damp skin of her husband’s throat as his fingers dug into her flesh.

  “When did you know?” she asked.

  “Know what?” His fingertips caressed her hip.

  “When did you know you loved me?”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. “When do you think it was?”

  “I say it was when I took you home from the assembly rooms, when you had been afflicted again. In the coach you held me close and kept mumbling the sweetest things.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, you did. Am I correct?”

  “No.”

  “All right then, surely that time in your study when I first…”

  He chuckled, his thumb rubbing over her lower lip. “You mean like what you did to me in the wine cellar last night, you shameless piece?”

  She pinched his waist. “Yes.”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Jus.” His hand slid between the cheeks of her rear and her breath caught.

  “When was it then?”

  His fingers teased her delicate flesh. “Why do you require this information?”

  “I want to know. I’m curious,” she breathed. Her fingertips grazed his chest as her hips moved slightly against his.

  “It was that morning you took me to the cemetery. When you slipped your hand in mine at my father’s grave and we stood there together quietly for ages.”

  “But that was when you first came home!” Her hand pushed up against his chest.

  Brandon’s clear, steady gaze held hers. “I knew then, Jus. Looking back on it, I fell in love with you right then.” He brushed her forehead with his lips as she nestled onto his chest again. “And you?”

  Her eyes darted up at him, and she bit her lower lip.

  “Confess, wench.” His finger slid inside her rear even further. She let out a whimper as the tingles spread through her. A wicked grin curled the edges of his lips as he pressed in.

  Her breath caught. “When you took me on the kitchen table.”

  Brandon shook with laughter and kissed her.

  “MY GODSON IS AN ANGEL, PURE AND SIMPLE,” said Charles.

  “Of course he is,” said Justine. “All newborns are angels.”

  “Oh no, Justine. Some can’t stop crying or demanding attention. Little Jeremy here is all serenity.”

  Brandon scoffed. “You should stay the night then and experience our evening ‘serenity.’ The chit gets a bit troubled after his midnight feeding and has a sore time falling back asleep, and the rest of us follow.”

  “Don’t listen to them, Jeremy. Do not give them one bit of consideration.” Charles leaned over the baby’s crib and rubbed his tiny arm with his finger. “You are absolutely perfect.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Brandon rested his hand on Charles’s shoulder.

  “He is indeed.” Charles grinned at Brandon.

  The summer sun burnished the lush front lawn of Wolfsgate. The large tent Brandon had arranged for his son’s christening kept their guests cool in its shade. Everyone remarked on Justine’s finely dressed tables, resplendent in their crisp white linen tablecloths decorated with vases of sweet peas, roses, and peonies. Many strolled through the colorful gardens drinking their fruit punch and wines. All heartily enjoyed their en plein air luncheon feast of fillets of beef, roast chicken, boiled potatoes, salads, colorful jellies, custard tarts, and iced cakes.

  “I envy you, you know,” Charles muttered as they left the babe in Georgina and Justine’s care.

  Brandon smirked. “I know.”

  “Seeing that child, knowing he’s a part of you and your wife, it’s startling. You’ve created a new life, Graven. We talk and talk about spawning heirs, but we don’t really think about what that means, do we? Sweet Lord, he’s a little person cut from your very own cloths.”

  Brandon sent a silent prayer of thanks up to God and his mother’s spirit for the thousandth time that his wife had survived giving birth to their son. His anxiety had run high the final weeks. The night Justine’s water had broke, he had sent for the doctor and Mrs. Shaw directly. His heart had burned anew with the stinging memory of his mother’s fatal suffering.

  All through the hours of Justine’s labor his pulse had drummed a rhythm of dread through her grunting and heavy breathing. It drummed on even when the babe’s cries pierced the air, even when Mrs. Shaw shouted out that it was a boy. His leaden heart had jammed in his chest, and he’d remained rooted to the wall. Dr. Langham and Mrs. Shaw had to assure him repeatedly that all had gone well and that Justine was in perfect health.

  Suddenly an uncontrollable urge to see and touch Justine for himself sent him spinning, and he’d burst into the bedchamber. His beautiful wife was exhausted, pale, drenched with perspiration, and yet she grinned and held her hands out to him, his name on her lips.

  Later, when Brandon had finally held his son in his arms, this tiny warm bundle yawned and stretched and nestled further in its blanket. Holding this small weight in his hands, he had not felt anxiety over this new, awesome, and strange responsibility, but an unexpected exhilaration. It was not unlike the euphoria he had once known, but this sensation was real and true and long-lasting. This euphoria filled his blood to bursting and rooted him to the very earth.

  When Justine had drifted off to sleep after a feeding, and the babe was still fussing at her side in their bed, Brandon had brought his mother’s music box. As a young boy, he had taken it from her chamber the day they had buried her and kept it for himself, but now he’d brought it out for his son. He had sat on the floor, leaned against the bed, and unlocked the
small gold box releasing the soft strains of music into the room. He leaned his head against the mattress and breathed deeply.

  He was at the dawn of a startling new life and wanted it marked with his mother’s melody. More importantly, he wanted to vanquish that music’s former wretchedness and transform it into something new, something beautiful once again. He turned and reached up to the babe. His son’s fist sprouted open and tightly clasped onto one of his father’s fingers. Every note of music swept through Brandon, and the bittersweet was replaced with a keen gratification.

  Now, at little Jeremy’s christening he felt settled into that new life.

  He turned his eyes from the sun as Charles clasped his shoulder. “It’s beginning to make sense, I think,” he said.

  “What’s that?” asked Brandon.

  “The notion of marriage, Graven.”

  Brandon lifted an eyebrow. “Ah, I’m impressed with your rapid progress on the subject, Montclare.”

  “Too right.” Charles scowled then his face broke into a grin. “It is impressive.”

  “Make a wise choice though. Don’t get carried away by the pretty face, the fetching figure or the enticing income.”

  “Oh, shut up. You’ve spoilt it for me you know, you and Justine. I look at the two of you and see what a marriage could be, and I am full of pathetic envy and high ideals.” He scoffed.

  “You have razor sharp instincts, man. Have some faith and a lot of patience, and do not be persuaded otherwise.”

  “Faith,” Charles muttered as they watched Andrew, Georgina and Justine laugh together. “Lady Graven looks very well and very happy.”

  “There was a time I did not think it would be so.”

  “Any word from William?”

  “Not a one. They’ve been in London for almost a year now without a single visit here. Although Amanda did send a silver bauble for the baby’s christening.”