"That sounds like my brother. I take it you two came to some sort of an understanding."
"Aye, after I finally managed to explain to him what I’ve just explained to you. He cheered right up, slapped me on the back and told me where to find you. Then he set off for the Rhineland."
Joanna laughed. "He told me he’d stay angry at you till he drew his dying breath."
"Hugh said that? He could never hold a grudge."
"I know."
Graeham trailed his callused fingertips lightly over her face, stroked her lips. "God, it’s good to see you smile, Joanna. I’ve missed your smile. Please tell me you don’t hate me anymore."
"I don’t hate you anymore. I don’t think I ever did, not really—although I tried very hard to."
He searched her eyes, his penetrating gaze seeing right through to her soul. "Tell me you love me. Please."
"I love you," she said, her throat suddenly tight, her eyes burning with impending tears. "I love you, Graeham, I do."
He grabbed her and kissed her, hard.
"I never wanted you for my mistress," he whispered hoarsely against her lips. "You know that, don’t you?"
She nodded.
"I want you for my wife," he said.
She nodded again; hot tears spilled from her eyes. He brushed them away with his thumbs.
"I don’t deserve you," he said, "not after the way I’ve mucked things up. And I know you must be concerned about my prospects. There’s the baby to think about, and—"
"We can live here," she said, curling her hand around his neck and kissing him. "It doesn’t matter where we live. I’d live in the humblest mud hut with you. I’d sell eggs and take in laundry. It doesn’t matter, Graeham. I love you. I want to be your wife."
"Truly? Even if I could offer you nothing?"
She touched her stomach. "You’ve already given me so much. I can’t imagine anything better than to live with you right here and fill this little cottage with children. That’s all I want—I swear it."
He rested his forehead against hers and grinned. "Then I suppose you’ll want me to turn down the holding my father has offered me."
She felt herself gaping at him. "Lord Gilbert, he..."
"He said it was high time he did the right thing by me. He granted me the manor of Eastingham, not far from London. It’s twenty hides of some of the best farmland in the area, with a charming little village right in the middle of it. And there are orchards, ponds, woodlands, sprawling pasturage for sheep and cows—"
"This...this is all going to be yours?"
"Ours. It already is. I’ve been there. They call me Lord Graeham."
"Lord Graeham," she said softly, disbelievingly. "Graeham of Eastingham."
"And you, my lady, are now Joanna of Eastingham. Or you will be as soon as I can find a priest to marry us. Oh, and best of all, there’s a ridiculously huge manor house—a stone manor house, with room for lots more children than we could ever fit in here." He adopted a look of mock gravity. "But if you’d like, I’ll tell him we don’t want it."
"There’s no need to do that."
"No, really." He rubbed his scratchy jaw against her cheek. "If you’d rather stay here, it’s perfectly all right with me. I only want to please you."
"You do, do you?" She kissed him, took him in her arms.
"Oh, yes." He trailed a hand from her throat to her chest, closing it over a breast straining the confines of her kirtle. "Pleasing you is all I’ve been able to think about of late."
"Do you know what would please me right now, my lord?" she murmured in his ear.
"God, I hope so," he said, lowering her onto the bed.
And as it happened, he did.
-The End-
If you enjoyed Silken Threads, check out Hugh’s story, The Sun and the Moon, which was inspired by Alfred Hitchcock’s great romantic suspense film, Notorious.
TEXAS REFUGE
* * *
Texas Heroes, Book 4
By Jean Brashear
Copyright 2012 Jean Brashear
Prologue
* * *
WISPY CURLS OF smoke from barely-doused candles twined before the wall of photographs and clippings.
On the altar rested the glove rescued from the pavement outside her building, lying on its bed of scarlet silk.
Not long now, my only love.
He set the knife beside the glove, his fingers hovering reverently above the gleaming blade as it waited, just as he did, for the touch of her skin. Eager for the day when they would finally be together.
Forever.
She belonged to him. He'd created her, hadn't he?
He'd been patient. Careful. But he was tired of waiting now.
She hadn't understood before…but soon she would.
No one else would be allowed to have her. One had tried, one had died.
It was all so simple.
He loved her.
He hated her.
She was his.
His only love.
Chapter One
* * *
QUINN MARSHALL JOLTED awake in his seat.
The acrid scent of candle smoke seared his nostrils.
He glanced around and remembered he was on a plane. Took a deep breath.
The passenger beside him still slept.
But the flight attendant's gaze was locked on his.
Had he cried out in his sleep?
"Sir?" she whispered, dark curls falling forward. "Are you all right?"
"I’m fine."
"Can I get you something?"
My old life back. "No. Thank you."
She hesitated. He flattened his gaze and sat still, willing her to give up. What he needed was beyond even her best intentions.
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, then nodded her head. "Well, let me know if you change your mind."
"I will."
After she retreated, he shook his head hard, as if that would dislodge the sense of evil clinging to the curves inside his skull. Why had the dreams started again? First the dark-haired boy, now this. For months after he'd left the force he hadn’t experienced any.
He never wanted another one.
After the first one, his sister had been murdered. He'd been too late to save her, nearly died himself.
But now they were back. Who was the little dark-haired boy around whom he felt such danger? Who was the blond woman in the picture?
A blonde…. Like Clarissa.
I don't want this . It's useless. I didn't save her.
Let me be .
To settle himself, he visualized the table rock at the canyon's edge where he'd found respite. Grounded by earth, the only sound the constant wind sweeping his mind clean of shadows, he could find rest for his troubled mind.
Peace he didn't deserve.
He felt the change in the engines and stirred, raised his seat back and prepared for the landing. When they touched down and rolled to a stop, he uncoiled his tall frame and rose to grab his carry-on. The flight attendant caught his eye, her expression intimating that this didn’t have to be the end. With regret, he shifted his gaze to stare at the ceiling. She had no clue what she’d be tackling.
"56 West 66th," he told the cab driver a few minutes later, then settled back into the seat of the taxi, gathering himself for the charade he must act out. He hated to be less than honest with his younger brother, but Josh knew nothing about this crack in the steadiness he'd always counted on from Quinn, how it had swallowed him up, how damned scared Quinn was that the darkness seemed to have become a permanent part of him.
Once they had shared practically everything, the three orphaned siblings, but Clarissa was gone, and Josh had a new life and a bright future. Their one surviving relative, their grandmother's sister whom they called Tía Consuela, was aging and carried her own burdens.
This was his battle to fight.
Things were looking up for his brother now, and Quinn wasn't going to screw it up. Josh’s grief ov
er Clarissa had faded in the demands of his new leading role. He’d worked hard for what he’d accomplished, and Quinn wanted him to savor it.
Quinn only wished his brother would leave him alone in the canyons to seek his own peace. But Josh and Tía Consuela had conspired to corner Quinn into paying Josh a visit in New York, and Quinn had run out of excuses.
He hated cities. The years he’d spent as a Houston homicide detective couldn’t be forgotten so easily, but he damn sure tried. Visiting New York brought back too many unwelcome memories of crowded streets. Of danger, of darkness.
"Here we are." The driver’s voice broke into his thoughts.
Quinn paid the fare and stepped from the cab, looking around him. God, the noise. A pang of longing for the crisp, clean air of the High Plains, the endless stars in the Texas nighttime sky, squeezed his heart.
It was only a few days. He squared his shoulders and entered the building.
***
"YOU DID IT!"
Lorie Chandler walked onto the set and found herself swept up by her co-star, Josh Marshall, and whirled until her already-spinning head scrambled under the onslaught of joy.
"Josh—" She actually giggled as she batted his shoulder. "Put me down, you idiot." But she couldn't stop smiling. "Congratulations yourself!"
"Thanks." Josh set her on her feet. "You haven't had many reasons to smile. It's good to see you doing it again."
Her joy dimmed. Over a year now since she'd lost Tom. Some days it seemed like a lifetime, but others, mere days. If only the hit-and-run driver had been caught, maybe—
"Hey," Josh said. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you think about him, especially today."
Josh had become a dear friend and had been there for her from the first second. "I'm fine." As the rest of the cast and crew of Legends of Love neared, she squeezed his arm. "Truly. And I am so excited for you, too."
"How about us?" He beamed. "Do we rock or what? Does Grant know yet?" Josh and her five-year-old son were bosom buddies.
"He wanted to take me to kindergarten for show and tell. When I said I'd have to see, he said that was okay because he was sure you'd go."
Josh laughed, and once again, Lorie was taken aback by his overwhelming good looks, the sun-streaked brown hair, the fallen angel face, the gorgeous body with its to-die-for abs. Other women would have fallen in love with him for far less reason than what he'd done for her.
Actually, millions of women had. But to her, he was combination kid brother and best friend.
"Josh…" How could she thank him for all he'd done?
Before she could finish, others crowded around. "Well, my dear," intoned the daytime drama's director, Ben Watkins. "Lead Actress in a Drama Series, hmm?"
"There's no justice that you weren't nominated, as well, Ben."
The director's normal hangdog expression lifted slightly. "Goes without saying, doll, but it's your turn. The work you've done in spite of—" He shook his head. "I know I ride you hard, but it's because you are capable of so much."
Lorie's eyes filmed. From this man, that was extravagant praise indeed. "Thank you." She threw her arms around him and hugged. "You're the best."
"Suck-up," Josh teased.
Lorie wiped her eyes as the others crowded around to bestow congratulations. The generosity of this group had helped her through the worst time of her life. They had become as much family as colleagues—the only family she and Grant had now. Her own parents were dead, and Tom's family had disapproved of his choice, never even bothering to get to know Grant.
After a few moments, Ben's voice rang out. "All right, people, we have a show to produce. Let's get to work!"
"Slave driver," Josh muttered. With an extravagant sigh, he held out an arm. "Milady?"
"Wait," she said. "I just want to thank you for everything. You've spent so much time with Grant, and you've been there for me every second." She squeezed his arm. "I don't know what either of us would have done without you. You're my hero."
His expression turned somber. "I'm no hero, Lorie. Not even in the same ballpark as Quinn."
"How is your brother?" She'd never met him, but Josh spoke of him often, especially after he'd nearly died trying to rescue their sister Clarissa. "Is he still coming to visit?"
Josh nodded grimly. "He arrives this afternoon."
"You don't seem happy."
"I'm really glad he's coming, it's just that—" He shrugged. "Physically, he's recovered from the gunshot wounds, but Tía says he still won't talk about the rest of it. He's always been the rock for all of us, and he seems to think he still needs to protect us. I want to help, but he treats me like a kid."
"Maybe getting away will be good for him."
"I hope so."
"Grant is dying to meet your brother the cowboy."
A dimple flashed. "He was a homicide detective in Houston, you know."
"But he rides horses."
"That he does. Raises them, too."
"Ahem!" A loud clearing of Ben's throat yanked both of them to attention. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you two care to get yourselves ready to work?"
"Oops." She traded glances with Josh, whose eyebrows rose.
They both sighed. Then grinned.
"You're a terrible influence," he said, humor restored.
"Me?"
"I am not kidding, you two…"
"I'll race you to Makeup. On the count of three," Josh said. "One, two—" He took off running before he reached three.
Sometimes he was about as mature as Grant. Lorie laughed and followed him down the hall.
Chapter Two
* * *
QUINN HELD TO the shadowed corner where he'd been led, watching his brother lying in bed with the nearly-naked blonde, who was too beautiful to be believed. Though they were surrounded by cameras and lights and people, the bond between them seemed not to be limited to the parts they were playing.
The effect his little brother had on women still mystified him. Quinn didn’t own a television, but when he went into town, the inhabitants all seemed to want to talk about Josh’s character, Brad Danforth. From what they said, half the women in the country fell all over themselves swooning for "Brad."
Quinn smothered a chuckle at the thought of the skinny little dark-haired mischief-maker who’d tagged around after him. He’d spent half his life rescuing his brother from one wild prank after another.
"That’s a wrap!"
The blonde left the bed, donned a thin robe and walked offstage in his direction. As she neared him, she glanced over and halted abruptly, her blue eyes locking on his.
He swore all the oxygen in the room suddenly vanished. Up close she packed even more of a punch.
"Quinn!" Josh’s delighted shout came from behind her.
Quinn yanked his gaze away and struggled to focus on his brother.
Josh caught her by the waist, propelling her forward. "Hey, it’s great to see you!" Josh released her to wrap his brother in a bear hug, the two of them slapping backs, smiling broadly.
"Man, am I glad you’re here. Hey, meet the star of the show, Lorie Chandler. Lorie, this is my big brother, Quinn Marshall."
Quinn nodded in her direction, "Ms. Chandler."
"Mr. Marshall, pleased to meet you," she said in a husky contralto, then stepped away from Josh. "If you’ll excuse me, I have to change. It’s almost time to pick up my son, Grant. He's looking forward to meeting you."
As she left, Quinn's gaze followed her to the door.
"Quinn?"
He dragged himself back to the moment. The noise in the studio rushed in.
Josh’s eyebrows lifted. "She’s really something, isn’t she?"
"Yeah." Quinn cleared his throat. "Sorry."
Josh laughed, clapping him on the back. "Hey, you're only human. I about swallowed my tongue the first time I saw her up close. Come on, let’s go."
***
LORIE LEANED AGAINST the wall as soon as she was out of sight.
Wow. Josh's brother couldn't be more different from her mischievous co-star. They were both tall and broad-shouldered, but Josh was the All-American boy, where his brother…she’d never seen anyone like Quinn Marshall, the dark, haunted hollows of that striking face transformed by the brilliant smile. Thick, glossy raven hair, generous lips, a strong, straight nose. The eyes, though...his golden eyes drew her back again and again. Panther eyes, dazzling in their impact.
She hadn’t been attracted to a man since Tom.
Attracted? That was an understatement. She'd never had such an instantaneous reaction to a man—and she felt guilty for it. As she should--she and Tom had dated for two years, were married for five.
She’d loved Tom, but he'd never once stolen her breath.
But still…yes, Tom was dead, and she was not. Everyone kept urging her to get out, to meet someone and stop living like a nun, but up to now, she'd never even considered doing so.
Apparently, she'd simply not met the right temptation.
Good grief, you're a mother. Get a grip .
Shaking her head, she shoved away from the wall and headed toward her dressing room, drawing the flimsy robe tighter around her negligee. She'd long since grown accustomed to walking around half-dressed on the set, paying no attention to cast and crew. Quinn Marshall couldn't have been more polite, yet somehow, under his mesmerizing gaze, she was newly aware that she was female and he was very…male.
Stop that . She would think about her child instead. She entered her dressing room, studiously focusing her thoughts on her son, his precious face with its mop of dark hair and dancing hazel eyes lightening her heart. Yes, it was hard, raising him alone, but he was her blessing, her treasure. In the first shell-shocked days he'd given her a reason to get up every morning simply by needing the everyday things: to be fed, read to, bathed, rocked...loved. And on the days when she was most terrified she wasn't up to the task, Grant’s sparkle had dragged her up out of the cavern of despair, into the light of day.
Wounded Heroes Boxed Set Page 78
