by Liz Tyner
‘You can’t be so positive of his true thoughts.’
‘I’m certain. You never chuckle over the loss of someone you love when you take her jewellery to be sold.’ She clasped her right hand over the knuckles of her left. ‘What happened to your wife’s gems?’
‘I suppose my brother has them for safekeeping. I told him to do as he must, but I did not want the house changed. I wanted it to remain just the way it had been with us. For ever.’ He shook his head. ‘Which isn’t possible.’
Katherine sat on the mattress, watching Brandt.
‘You’re really not alone, Brandt.’ She might as well have spoken to the ceiling for all the acknowledgement he gave.
‘You have a whole family that cares for you.’ She pulled a thin cover around her, but not for warmth. ‘And the people in the tavern.’
‘I’m sure they care for me and I care for them, and we go along the same as always.’
‘Your mother loves you.’
‘And I tell her the joys of life in my letters and I’m sure she sees through it, but she appreciates the flowery words and I appreciate her pretending to believe them. And she has written to me that I am her worrisome child and she wishes I would come home so she could feel her family is together, but she understands that I don’t.’
‘Can’t you?’
He turned to her, face expressionless. ‘I can take the boards off the house, but they’re there to stay in my mind.’
She waited, watching his face for emotion. ‘Just open a window.’
‘But I have no windows to let the light in.’ He shrugged. ‘They were there once, so I know what it feels like.’
‘Make new ones.’
His lips turned up, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘No glass panes. No opening to put them in.’ He shook his head.
‘Get a different carpenter.’
‘I have had helpful carpenters all about me and I do not even care to see what kind of windows they might make. I can imagine broken panes and windows trying to overlap, and the beauty of the day outside twisted through warped glass, and winter winds coming in.’
She shook her head. ‘Perhaps your mother really meant you’re her child who thinks too much and should just settle into a pleasant life. You do have a family that can take you in. I don’t.’
‘And you have windows inside you, Katherine, and they let light in of all different colours.’
She pictured the windows of cathedrals. ‘Stained glass?’
‘Un-stained glass. You have no idea.’
‘Perhaps that makes me seem bland.’
‘Bland is good.’ He sat up and looked down at her. ‘You planned a kidnapping. If we were going to discuss you, you’re definitely a bit cracked.’
She adjusted the covers at her chest. ‘That’s not a nice thing to say.’
He huffed out a breath. ‘Have I ever claimed to be nice?’
‘You’re a cad. A layabout. I forgot. But your family likes you.’
‘Mothers lean towards liking their children because they birthed them. My father and I never saw eye to eye and my brothers and I keep our distance so we’ll get along. Now go to sleep.’ He paused, waited a long breath. ‘You do seem to rattle a bit when the wind blows the slightest amount.’
‘My pardon.’ She stretched out her elbows and bumped him.
‘You’re supposed to say that after you jostle someone—accidentally, and not before.’ He touched her elbow and slowly pushed it back against her body.
‘Planning ahead.’ Katherine turned. ‘Or trying to make a spot for the light to get in. Marry me. It would make so little difference in your life and so much difference in mine.’
He rolled over and his arm draped over her as casually as if he circled a pillow. An awareness shot through her body, jolting her into a wide awakening. ‘I accept your proposal, Katherine. I’ll get a special licence tomorrow. You’re right. It will be easy enough to do and won’t mean anything to me. But do not expect any windows of light to suddenly appear and do not expect me to live with you in Mary’s house. I’ll be leaving as soon as I get you settled. You will be protected with a world of people around you. You’ll have respectability, but never a true husband. I can’t live here. It’s no longer my home. Perhaps it never was. Now I realise that’s why I took Mary away. It was for me. Not her.’
He pulled her closer, kissing the side of her neck. ‘I fit among the mismatched people of the tavern.’
‘You could fit among your true family if you wanted.’
He snuggled in closer. ‘But I don’t wish it. I don’t need the Sunday dinners and the world my father planned out for my brothers and me. The soot suits me better than the summertime roses in the vases and the winter evergreens for luck.’
‘You prefer darkness over light.’
‘Shadows. The shadows you can see through and not the harsh sunlight that demands a clean-shaven face.’
‘You can’t hate shaving that much.’
He pulled over her so that he could brush his chin against her cheek several times, creating a friction that warmed her. He settled behind her.
‘I don’t hate it at all,’ he said. ‘For the right reason.’
Even as the new sensations flooded her, she clenched her jaw and forced her body immobile and held her breath as best she could. ‘You’re awfully close.’ She spoke softly.
‘My pardon.’
He had a smile in his voice and something else, something that drew her in as snug as his arm.
She was lying with her backside against him. She knew he had to be feverish, as she could feel the temperature flaring inside her own body where they touched.
She had no idea how he could lie so close to her and actually sleep with the storm of pulsations flickering between their bodies—or at least bombarding her.
Brandt reached up and brushed back the hair that wisped at her ears. ‘Are you comfortable?’ His voice rolled over her, a rumble of masculinity cloaked in a whisper surrounded by darkness.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve sworn never to have children again.’
She didn’t ask what that had to do with her—because she had a feeling she knew.
‘I understand.’ She spoke into the pillow.
Again he brushed at the hair at her temple. ‘Is Gussie enough for you?’
‘Most certainly. She is a handful sometimes. Without Mrs Caudle I would be lost.’
His thumb moved down the side of her face, traced her jawline and each fingertip trailed over her lips.
‘You are a bit misguided. But I can feel your compassion for me. It’s different than anyone else’s. You care, but it doesn’t matter to you because today is all that concerns you.’
‘That sounds selfish.’
‘Or like someone who has been worried for some time what her future is going to hold, and is more concerned with survival than anything else.’
‘I do so want Gussie safe.’
‘She will be. And so will you.’ His words stopped on a whisper.
He took his time, exploring the feel of her skin, brushing her hair back, first with his fingers and then at the back of her neck with his lips.
Sensations of warmth exploded inside her. She could feel her skin, all of it. The bits of her that he didn’t touch, didn’t know they weren’t being caressed. She shut her eyes, all the energy of her body floating away, and she rested in his touch, letting him explore the innocence of her skin while she savoured the sensations he gave her.
She heard and felt the movement all at once. He propped himself on one elbow and rolled her towards him before settling them against each other. He slid her so that her head rested in the crook of his arm and grasped her leg and pulled it over his, bringing them closer.
Before he stopped moving, his lips rested against hers, caressing, floating against her. The kiss connected them and he pulled her close against his body, his hand slowly sweeping down her back, fingers splayed, holding her into him.
He took his time, unbuttoning her shirt, moving it aside, replacing the cloth he’d pushed back with his lips.
Moving back to cup her breasts, he kissed them, holding his face against them, his hair swirling against her neck, tickling her with pleasure.
Her palms roved over his chest, feeling the taut skin, resting only long enough to take in a stronger perception of his body.
The maleness of him washed over her and, when he removed her shirt, he pulled her against him. He kissed her and she tasted a soft hint of cinnamon, and perhaps brandy, but mostly the male power of him.
He had no trouble removing the rest of their clothing, never stopping his exploration of her as he did so.
She lay against him, his hardness pressing against her, and he took his time, moving back to brush his lips over her face.
In the dimness, she couldn’t see his expression as much as she could feel the intensity of it. His breathing. Now she understood. It had changed. All of him had. He wasn’t the same person she’d seen naked on the bed. This was a different kind of bareness, one that went beyond skin, deeper into the heart of a person. A raw power of feeling that intensified with each brush of the hand against the body, the skin against skin, and sparking a different power of feeling.
Then he held her close and cradled her, and when his hands roamed her body, he didn’t stop until she gasped in pleasure.
He touched her, moving her gently so he could rise over her and slid himself inside her, but when his body tensed, he pulled away.
In the quietness that followed, as her heartbeats slowed, he held her close.
Then with even more care than he’d used undressing her, he helped her pull her clothing back on, giving her soft kisses through her clothes as he fastened them in the darkness.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing seemed important enough to break the moments between them.
He tucked her against him. ‘It doesn’t seem quite so dark in here now.’
She pulled away and turned back to him so that she could run her hand along where he’d shaved. ‘You never seem dark to me. Just scratchy.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Brandt isn’t as bad as I thought.’ Katherine leaned across the table in Brandt’s boarding room. Mrs Caudle didn’t make a noise, just continued the slow shake of her head at every word Katherine spoke. ‘He doesn’t seem to gamble. He talks of the tavern women no differently than sisters. He doesn’t even seem to care for his own money. I’m marrying him. Gussie will be safe.’
Katherine reached in to give Mrs Caudle another hug. She savoured the scent of baking which always hovered around the governess. Brandt waited outside while she dressed in the fresh clothing Mrs Caudle had brought. The laundress’s son had managed to get into Augustine’s house, but Mrs Caudle was not allowed to leave the premises with Gussie.
‘I warned you.’ Mrs Caudle straightened her necklace. ‘The problem is that you let the kidnapper breathe all over you.’
Katherine nodded, movements slow. ‘All the time.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘But it doesn’t matter to me any more.’
‘Why do you wish to take—? Oh, child…’ Mrs Caudle reached to grasp one shoulder of Katherine’s so she could shake her.
Mrs Caudle’s eyes narrowed and she tapped Katherine’s shoulder. ‘You have to keep using your hands to push it out—especially after you marry.’ She gave Katherine a worn look. ‘Once you’ve got a babe on the way and he’s been drinking—that elixir fades fast.’
The governess sighed. ‘The only weapons we have are the ones we use before we marry and they’re our downfall.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Katherine asked.
‘Men can’t hardly say no to a woman they aren’t married to. Particularly if she sidles up against him some. They have their elixir to use and we have our weapons. We can move in closer and give them those little touches to weaken them just enough, then we fall right into their trap. We think we’re sweetening them up and they’re leading us right to that mucky spider’s web that traps us for ever. For. Ever.’
Katherine flicked the words away with a turn of her head. She stood, lifting the dress to her own shoulders that Mrs Caudle had brought. She even held the silk against her face, pleased at the thought of leaving the trousers behind for good.
At least she had some choices this time. One more than last time.
‘I don’t feel right about this.’ Mrs Caudle shook her head.
‘Well, we will be hopeful.’ Katherine placed the dress on the bed while Mrs Caudle undid her laces. ‘I’ve been wearing a man’s clothing and I must say, it’s changed my view on the world.’
‘Thinking like a man might not be a good thing,’ Mrs Caudle said, moving by Katherine and helping her pull the chemise over her head. The governess pulled down the hem of the white skirt until it flowed around Katherine’s knees. ‘In fact, I can’t remember a time I’ve seen a man think.’
‘Mrs Caudle…’ Katherine paused, raising her hand to her lips. ‘Maybe I do think like a man and that is my problem. A man decides what he wants and goes after it, not caring what happens along the way.’ She stood still while Mrs Caudle worked with the laces. ‘I see no reason to change until after I get what I wish for.’
‘You’re about to get more ’n you wished for though.’ She muttered a grumble.
Mrs Caudle finished dressing Katherine, both silent.
Katherine looked in the mirror. She leaned down to see better. ‘This is not a fashionable bodice. I wished to be married in a better bodice.’
Mrs Caudle shook her head. ‘I would have travelled with you,’ she grumbled, ‘but I knew Gussie needed me. That daft maid who’s watching her now is no smarter than Gussie. And that tavern fare corrupted you.’
‘No, he didn’t.’ Katherine tugged a bit at her dress.
She turned to Mrs Caudle. ‘We may have a weakness where men’s elixir is concerned, but…’ She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air. ‘It all somehow ties together.’
Mrs Caudle gently brushed at the frazzle of hair around her face. ‘I will never understand—’ She looked at Katherine. ‘Before she died, I promised your mother I’d see to her girls. If she’d thought how my own turned out, I dare say she’d have asked me to stay away from her babies.’
Katherine turned away from Mrs Caudle’s face. She knew why her mother had died. Augustine had pecked her to death.
He had watched her mother, day after day, looking for tender flesh to pick at. Her mother’s face was puffy or her dress was too tight or her hair straw or her books foolish or her hands wrinkled. He lived to find fault. And he flapped around like a greedy buzzard when he nipped a particularly vulnerable spot.
‘I will marry, Mrs Caudle. I will not let Gussie grow up to become a prisoner to him as I was.’
Mrs Caudle folded the clothes Katherine had given her. ‘Child. I cannot believe what’s become of you. I’ve failed to protect you.’
‘I have some of my father’s blood as well. So, don’t blame yourself, Mrs Caudle.’
Katherine smiled, satisfied with the dress she would be married in.
‘You can change your mind.’
‘I have no intention of changing my mind,’ Katherine said. ‘It’s better to go forward or sideways, than to go back to Fillmore.’
Mrs Caudle looked at Katherine, her words slow and speculative. ‘Child, are you sure you know what you’re doing?’
‘I will do what I have to do,’ Katherine met Mrs Caudle’s gaze with her eyes steady and she took a slow, deep breath.
Mrs Caudle shut her eyes and lowered her head. ‘Rot.’ She opened the door and waved Brandt in. ‘I will get back to Gussie.’ She rushed by them.
‘Everything is ready?’ Katherine turned her attention to Brandt. She pressed her lips together when he shook his head.
‘It will be an hour or so before the bishop is able to prepare the special licence for us. I suppose I must have new clothing.’ He looked at hi
s sleeves. ‘This one is worn through. Go with me. We must see you’re pleased with the purchase. I’m afraid my tastes might run to last year’s fashions. I’ve a tailor shop to visit.’
When he raised his eyes to her, she could see the distance in them.
‘A wedding to prepare for,’ he added, much in the same way he might have said a last meal to have.
Katharine walked to him, and put a hand on his arm, and could feel the tension in him. ‘I appreciate what you’re doing for me and my sister. I know my stepfather may not release her, but I think he will. It is better for her to live with me than for the world to know his natural daughter is in a madhouse. He doesn’t want anyone to believe his blood is tainted. That is the thing he fears most, a madness in his veins.’
‘I’ll see that he lets you take her,’ he said.
He stepped aside, opening the door, and the scent of good soap wafted along behind her. He shook his head, watching her move past.
He examined how she’d dressed to be married. Without even realising it, she’d dressed like a fashion plate from La Belle Assemblée. Her bonnet had a bow bigger than his fist. She had no idea of the stamp society had left on her, even if she didn’t go to the events around her. The lightskirts at the tavern had once spent three shillings for a copy of the periodical and spent the evening making up jests about the superior noses of the women portrayed in it.
They were a fine couple.
He stared at her bonnet a moment. She reached up to pat it.
‘It’s fashionable,’ she said.
‘I think you mistake excess for fashion.’
‘This—from a man who has worn the same waistcoat for how many years?’ She took the threads apart with her glance.
‘I do not claim my waistcoat is a bit more attractive than your bonnets. In fact—’ He stared at the concoction on her head. ‘I would rate them as quite similar in style.’
‘I’m a duke’s granddaughter. Even when I was on the shelf, it was the very top shelf.’ She shook her head, staring at his clothing. ‘And I should dress the part, particularly if I am to challenge Augustine and Fillmore. It would not do to show up in rags.’
