by The Bargain
Following a wedding toast of champagne, which Brett had had sent ahead to the vicar, a benumbed Ashleigh stood beside the brougham that was to take her and Brett back to the dowager's cottage while Patrick drove Megan and himself to the Hall in the duke's phaeton. As she readied herself to be handed up into the carriage, Megan grasped her hands and bent down to give her a warm kiss on the cheek.
Ashleigh smiled her thanks with grateful eyes, then turned toward Patrick. Her brother gave her a long, tender look, then reached down to swoop her into his arms in a familiar bear hug.
"Be happy, my darling," he murmured with emotional fervor. "It's all I wish for you."
Ashleigh hugged him fiercely about the neck, much as she remembered doing as a child. "Oh, Patrick!" she murmured in a quaking voice. "I love you so!"
Then Brett was shaking Patrick's hand with assurances of no bitter feelings passing between them, and Ashleigh was clinging tightly to Jane Hastings's tea roses as Brett helped her into the brougham and climbed in beside her. And then, amid a murmur of good wishes, the driver signaled to his team and they were off.
After they were deposited at the cottage, Brett remained below to give instructions to the driver to have Old Henry send Raven and Irish Night to them the following morning, while Ashleigh went on upstairs. Walking past the open door to the drawing room, she saw someone had left ajar the French doors to the little balcony outside. Without thinking, she entered and walked to the balcony. It was growing dark and she could barely see the lake, which was melting into the deep purple shadows of dusk. Late-summer evening sounds of nightjars and crickets punctuated the silence, and these familiar noises should have given her comfort, but for whatever reasons, tonight they did not. Staring into the fading landscape, Ashleigh felt herself shiver, though the air was still warm. Then the tread of booted feet sounded on the stairs, causing her to whirl about and drop her bouquet of roses as Brett's voice broke the silence.
"Ashleigh? Ah, there you are!" He stood by the open door to the drawing room. "Ashleigh? Is something wrong?"
Determined to override the fears that had been plaguing her, Ashleigh forced a smile and crossed the room to meet him, saying, "No, not at all. I was merely enjoying the view."
"Ah, yes." He smiled. "Lovely, isn't it? But I fear I must persuade you to ignore it for now and join me in the sitting room." He gave her a small, enigmatic smile. "I've been given, ah, orders."
"Oh?" questioned Ashleigh as she allowed him to escort her down the short hallway. "What kind of orders?"
"I'm afraid your brother was being terribly mysterious. He merely told me that once we arrived here, we were to go directly to the sitting room without delay. Ah, here we are."
In the sitting room they came upon a small table set for two, with yet another bottle of champagne chilling beside a tea table laden with various silver-covered dishes and platters. A single red rose in a narrow vase sat in the middle of the small dinner table and, leaning against it, a folded piece of white vellum, which Brett quickly took and read aloud:
"'My luve is like a red, red rose....'
—May the two of you hear the words
—and come to hear the music!
Love,
Megan and Patrick"
"Why, those two silly romantics!" exclaimed Ashleigh, at a loss for what else to say. But she and Brett had endured a near-silent ride in the brougham, punctuated only by a few strained remarks about the improved weather and the excellent job the staff had done in restoring the cottage, and she felt she had to say something to bring about a thaw between them.
Brett regarded her with a small half smile. "Is that how you view things romantic, then?" he asked as he came forward to help her off with her cape. "Are they merely silly?"
"Oh, why... no!" exclaimed Ashleigh as she raised her eyes to his with a start. And her protest was genuine. For as far back as she could remember, she'd always been a romantic, from the time she was a little girl in her parents' house, when she would look for the first star in the sky at night and dream of the man she'd one day marry—and imbue him with Patrick's strengths and admirable qualities—right up through the long years at Hampton House, when she'd believed in her heart that someday, somehow, someone would come to rescue her from those sordid surroundings, whisking her off into the night with wonderful words of love.
Only, now, as she stood uncertainly before this man she would actually be sharing her life with, it seemed none of that was to be. Now it seemed that dreams were only ashes, and romance was nothing more than a distant star for fools to wish upon....
Suddenly, and to her complete mortification, Ashleigh's eyes welled up with tears as she looked at him, and she had to fight a constriction in her throat. Embarrassed, she looked away, saying, "It... it's just that... I mean I—" But the dam broke, and she heard herself choke on a sob as twin tears traced their way down her face.
"Ashleigh... little one, what is it?" asked Brett as he turned her back toward him and drew her into his arms.
"Oh, Brett! This isn't at all the way I—the way it's supposed to be.... It just isn't!"
"Oh?" he questioned, an amused but tender smile on his face. "And just how is it... supposed to be?"
Very conscious of his strong arms about her, his broad, muscular chest against her cheek, Ashleigh pulled her head away as she made an effort to check the flow of her tears. "R-romantic," she managed as she gazed up into his gently inquiring eyes.
"Ah," said Brett, keeping one arm about her as he reached to wipe a tear from her cheek. The sight of her face wet with tears, its blue eyes huge and bright as they gazed at him, was almost more than he could bear. He wanted very much right now to pull her even closer to him, tight against his body, which had begun to throb with awareness of hers. God, she was lovely... beautiful beyond telling, and sweet and fresh... and all his.
But he sensed her need to talk more than anything else right now, and so he smiled, saying, "So my new wife is a romantic, is she? Well, Your Grace—" he turned her gently toward the table set for two with candles flickering in the darkening room "—I don't see how one can get more romantic than this. And I'll tell you a secret theory of mine," he added as he led her to her chair. "Romance is all well and good, but I doubt anyone ever really reaps the benefit of it on an empty stomach." This last was spoken with a brief tap of his finger on her straight little nose.
Warming as much to his tone as to the words, Ashleigh giggled and gave him a sudden quick smile that sent Brett's senses spinning, almost making him regret he'd not followed his inclinations of moments before. But instead, he seated her at the intimate little table, reached for the champagne, and they began to dine.
During their dinner they began to relax together as they talked of many things. Ashleigh told him of her early years with Patrick and her parents, falling readily into accounts of tomboy exploits that were aimed at emulating the big brother she adored, anecdotes of winters spent skating on ponds and riding in a horse-drawn sleigh, of summers filled with swims in cooling streams and horseback rides to country fairs.
Through the telling she became again the child she'd been, excited with her recollections, animated in recreating her memories, and through it all, Brett never took his eyes off her, watching with growing fascination, enthralled by her winsome charm.
Then it was his turn, Ashleigh told him, and he began, carefully at first, then with increasing openness, to talk of his past. He told her what it was like to be a boy in his grandfather's domain, utterly committed to following a carefully prescribed regime in an effort to please the one person he truly cared about in the world... and who, he felt, cared for him. He included tales from his time at sea, with bits and pieces about the friendship that developed between him and her brother; he spoke of his years at the university, of his fascination with history and the law; and he told her of the time when he returned home once more, of coming before his grandfather with his training and education behind him, ready at last to receive the old man's approval.
Ashleigh listened, wide-eyed, to these accounts of his boyhood, feeling she was beginning at last to get glimpses of what went into the building of Brett the man. She had never heard of anyone who'd grown up according to such a carefully laid-out plan, and she wondered at the effect it must have had on him. Had he ever had the chance merely to be a boy at play? Had he ever known a child's wonder at Christmastime, or what it was like to toss a snowball, or catch a firefly and then let it go? When had there ever been room in his young life for aught but duty... and measuring up? And what had he felt when it happened, as occasionally it must have, that he didn't? Whom had he turned to then?
It was then she sensed something else that was missing from these stories, something she faintly recalled Megan having touched on once, but which, perhaps because of her eagerness to learn about him—and perhaps because she was on her second glass of champagne—she now could not recall.
"Tell me about your parents," she asked as she took a sip from her glass. "Do you remember them at all?"
All at once she saw Brett's face go rigid and his eyes shutter. "They're gone," he said.
"Oh," murmured Ashleigh, "I'm sorry. I—"
"It's grown somewhat close in here, Ashleigh." Brett rose abruptly from the table. "Why don't we finish our champagne out on that balcony? It's cleared up quite nicely and promises to be a lovely night. We might even see some stars."
Perhaps it was the champagne, and perhaps it was because her guard was down from the warmth they'd shared, but as Ashleigh walked back into the drawing room and toward its balcony, she ignored the warnings she might otherwise have sensed from his abruptness of tone and curt manner and persisted in asking, "But surely you have some recollection of them? I mean, you said you were ten when your father—"
"I've no wish to discuss it!" Brett said sharply.
Ashleigh had gone through the open French doors and now whirled around to face him. "But why?"
"I said to leave it alone, Ashleigh!" This time his tone was unmistakably harsh, the look in his eyes cold and forbidding.
Ashleigh fell backward as if from a physical blow. Needing to focus her eyes elsewhere—anywhere to avoid the ice in his— she glanced down at the now wilting bouquet of tea roses she'd dropped earlier, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
Brett saw the gesture and felt instant remorse. He'd meant to charm and calm her into their bed tonight, not to send her into bewildered tears. "Ashleigh, I—"
"No! Don't come near me," she warned, taking another step backward.
It was then she felt the balcony's railing at her back, but as she continued to gaze at the forlorn little bouquet of roses, she decided she must pick them up, for somehow they reminded her of herself just now.
It was this that saved her. Just as she began to bend forward to reach for them, she heard a splintering sound and felt the railing give way at her back. All at once she felt herself falling, her arms flailing out in front of her as her champagne glass crashed to the ground.
She screamed, just as Brett charged forward, shouting her name. There was a flash of movement before her as she felt herself going over the edge where, seconds before, a stout new railing had rested.
The moment was a blur of terror, filled simultaneously by the sound of her own scream in her ears, the realization that she was about to die, and the syllables of her name splitting the air.
Then, a second later, she felt a strong hand grasping her arm, sensed her horrible loss of balance being restored, and then warm, masculine arms were holding her, pulling her back from the edge.
"Ashleigh! My God, Ashleigh, you almost—" Brett crushed her fiercely to him, his mind at a momentary loss for words from the horror of what had nearly happened.
Ashleigh was silent in his arms for several long seconds as her initial shock passed. Then she gasped and fell into hysterical weeping, her small body heaving and shuddering against his chest as she released the pent-up terror of seconds before.
Brett let her cry it out, giving what comfort he could as he held her close, all the while murmuring soft, calming words into her hair, her ear. "That's it, sweetheart, cry... It's all right... you're safe now. Shh, you're fine, little one, it's over...."
After some time her sobs gave way to soft little watery sounds murmured between hesitant, uneven breaths, and finally she was quiet.
Slowly, Brett released his hold and brought the curled fingers of his hand gently under her chin to tilt her face up toward his. "Better now?" he questioned softly.
Still feeling too choked up to trust her voice, Ashleigh merely nodded, her eyes, sparkling with tears, bigger and brighter than ever in her small face.
A dozen thoughts were assailing Brett's brain just then, not the least of which was the question of how a brand-new railing could fail to support her insignificant weight and give way as it had. But foremost in his mind was the need to see Ashleigh restored to mental comfort, to allay any emotional damage she might be suffering, for he had caught the look of barely subdued terror in her eyes just now, even after the tears had subsided.
Without another moment's hesitation, he caught her under the backs of her thighs and swept her into his arms, then proceeded to carry her to the bedchamber. Once there, he stood her beside the lovely old canopied Queen Anne bed and, continuing to murmur soft words of comfort, began to remove her gown.
Ashleigh stood quietly, submitting to the disrobing like someone in a dreamlike trance, and Brett attributed this to a continuing state of shock from what had transpired. Soon her gown and simple petticoat lay about her feet in a heap on the floor, and she stood before him wearing only her daintily embroidered shift.
Brett took one look at her slender body with its ripe charms barely concealed by the semitransparent material and forced himself to look away as he turned down the coverlet on the bed. The sight of those sweet, lush curves could, he knew, prove a sore temptation, but he also knew it would never do to set his mind in that direction right now. Only a monster would take advantage of a woman under the present circumstances, and Brett had a hundred reasons for proving, to himself, if no one else, that he was in no way deserving of such an epithet, especially where Ashleigh was concerned.
When the bed was ready, he lifted her gently onto the mattress, swiftly removed his boots and climbed in beside her. Then he again wrapped her in his arms, coaxing her head onto his shoulder with soft, soothing words.
"Sleep, little one. It's the best balm to heal the fear you've just suffered. You're safe now, here with me. Nothing's going to harm you.... Sleep...."
She seemed to acquiesce to his words, closing her eyes and nestling in closer to his soothing warmth, but as she did so, Brett found he was not as immune to the soft curves she pressed against him as he would have preferred to be. As the silk of her hair touched the underside of his chin and the soft, sweet scent of her perfume drifted about his senses, he found himself gritting his teeth in an effort to steel himself against the heady onslaught.
Curse him for a fool, but he hadn't imagined it would be this difficult! Desperately, he tried to focus his brain on other things—anything to avoid thinking about the ripe, feminine nearness that even now was causing beads of sweat to appear on his forehead and a bulge in his breeches beneath the coverlet.
Damn, he thought, but what a coil this was! Here he lay beside his own bride on their wedding night, and he dared not touch her! Here was this bewitching creature who was now totally his, whose body he had craved for weeks, whose flesh he was meant to get an heir upon, and she was beyond touching. Ah, he thought bitterly, how the capricious gods must be laughing at him with this!
Ashleigh closed her eyes as she'd been bidden and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. She had succeeded in calming her inner turmoil from the terrible scare she'd suffered; Brett had helped with that, but now, as she lay in his arms, something else was at work.
It was their wedding night! And, though he'd been wonderfully tender and considerate in the afterma
th of her scare, he now seemed content to merely lie beside her and urge her to sleep. And it was their wedding night! True, it might not be the romantic union she had dreamed of, but he was her wedded husband now and...
Could it be he didn't desire her? Had the injury to his pride from Patrick's ultimatum been so great that he couldn't bring himself to follow through with his husbandly rights? Was she, perhaps, not sufficiently attractive to him?
All of these questions and more assailed Ashleigh's spinning brain as she lay there in the darkness beside him, as the silent minutes ticked by.
Finally after some length of time had passed and she still found herself wide-awake, Ashleigh decided she could bear it no more. It didn't even matter to her that she would risk encountering that wrath that she had seen so often and which she knew lurked beneath the surface. She had to know.
Shifting slightly to raise herself up on one elbow, she looked at him in the light given off by the beams of the full moon that slanted in through a window opposite the bed.
"Brett?"
Surprised to see she was not close to sleep, as he'd suspected—and fervently hoped—Brett withdrew the arm he'd thrown across his brow in an effort to shut out the softly insinuating effects of her movements. "Yes, what is it?" he questioned as he opened his eyes.
Then he wished he hadn't. The picture she presented, above him in the moonlight with her hair all silvered and curling about her arms and shoulders, her face breathtakingly beautiful as she faced him, caused a tight knot of desire to form in his loins, blotting out almost everything but his hunger for her.
Almost put off by the look on his face—a look she didn't understand—Ashleigh forced herself to continue. "I was wondering... That is, I—" Now that she was into it, the right words just wouldn't come!
"Ashleigh, for God's sake, what's the matter?" he asked, sitting up beside her now.
There was no help for it, but to simply blurt it out. "Brett... I— Don't...? Don't you want me?"
Her words hit him like a sledgehammer blow to his middle, and there was a passing second of silence while he digested their import. Then he shut his eyes and reached for her with a groan.
