Velvet Embrace

by Nicole Jordan

  "I remember. It hurts like hell. But I'm not sure if I can wait till after the wedding."

  Brie smiled, meeting his gaze fully. "Neither am I."

  They did wait, for even when Julian returned to London, Katherine remained at the inn to act as chaperon. Dominic and Brie were permitted a chaste kiss or two, but nothing more.

  When Dominic had recuperated enough from his wounds to travel, they returned to Rutland. They planned to be married by special license, but Brie wanted the ceremony to take place at Greenwood with her family and friends present. She was relieved to find the scandal Julian had predicted had never materialized. No one had even known about her journey to France with Dominic, since her aunt and uncle had made up a story to cover her sudden absence from London.

  Dominic stayed at the Lodge during the week before the wedding and called daily at Greenwood, but even though he spent the majority of his time with Brie, he rarely saw her alone. Finally, the day before they were to be married, he was able to get her to himself—by the simple expediency of inviting her to go riding.

  She was waiting for him in the stableyard when he rode up on Diablo.

  "Still wearing breeches, I see," Dominic observed when he saw how she was dressed.

  Brie glanced up at him uncertainly. "You said you didn't mind."

  His eyes raked her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts. Then he grinned. "No, ma belle, I don't mind. I even find myself growing quite fond of your breeches. And at least you've rid yourself of that disreputable coat. Remind me, though, to recommend a decent tailor to you—one who can fashion you something with a bit more style."

  Seeing the teasing glint in his eyes, Brie felt her pulse quicken. Dominic looked impossibly handsome, she thought as she gazed up at him. His flowing lawn shirt was opened at the throat, its whiteness contrasting with his dark features, while his ebony hair was ruffled by the fresh spring breeze, glinting blue-black in the sunlight.

  "What was it you wanted to show me?" she asked, trying to dismiss her fluttering heartbeat.

  "You'll see. Come here." He urged Diablo closer, reaching down to pull Brie into the saddle before him.

  Brie leaned back in his arms, never suspecting what such intimate contact with Dominic would do to her. Immediately she sat bolt upright, startled by the throbbing tremor that ran though her.

  She sat rigidly erect as they rode out of the stableyard, but Dominic's arm remained wrapped around her waist, his hand resting directly below her breast, making her skin burn. She could feel the strength of his muscled chest against her back, the iron hardness of his thighs against her legs.

  "Is it a secret?" she asked breathlessly, trying to take her mind off Dominic's nearness.

  "No, I merely want to show you a horse I recently acquired. I had considered asking you to train him for me."

  "A simple business proposition, then? Why didn't you say so?"

  Dominic didn't reply, since he too was trying to ignore the warm currents radiating between them. He hadn't counted on his body's instant reaction to Brie's soft thighs, but he could already feel himself stiffening. "Perhaps riding double wasn't such a good idea," he murmured, removing his arm from about her waist.

  When he fell silent, Brie kept her thoughts occupied by concentrating on her surroundings. It was a mellow spring morning, one whose beauty couldn't fail to enchant. Lush green fields stretched before them, glowing emerald in the bright sunlight, and in the distance, cattle and sheep grazed peacefully. The hedgerows and coverts that dappled the rolling landscape were bursting with hawthorn, agrimony, and meadowsweet, their sweetness adding to the scent of new grass and damp earth, while black and yellow butterflies vied for space with larks, goldfinches, and hedge sparrows.

  Dominic was more enchanted with the woman in his arms, though, than with the lovely morning. Brie's fragrant scent was teasing his senses, arousing a fierce hunger in him that was only aggravated by the feel of her warm, lithe body pressing against him.

  When Brie squirmed in his arms, Dominic sucked in his breath. "Unless you want to be ravished, ma belle, you had better be still," he warned. "It's been far too long since I last had you to myself, and my control is rather tenuous at the moment."

  They rode for a while longer, but when the ache in his loins grew too painful to ignore, Dominic touched his heels to Diablo's flanks and the powerful stallion bounded forward.

  They cantered across a field, heading south when they reached a lane. About a mile further, Dominic checked their speed and turned off the lane into a wooded area. He followed the path until it ended, then brought Diablo to a halt.

  "Here we are," he announced, gazing down at Brie to watch her reaction. The woods had given way to a meadow, and in the center, some distance away, a bay horse was grazing with apparent contentment.

  When she spotted the bay, Brie leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. Then suddenly she gasped. "It couldn't be," she breathed.

  Dominic's mouth twisted in a tender smile. "What you see in that sorry specimen of horseflesh I'll never understand. But, yes, it is Jester, alive and well."

  Brie was off Diablo's back in a flash, her cry of excitement startling the high-strung stallion as she broke into a run. "Sorry, boy," Dominic murmured, soothing the nervous animal. "She isn't always this flighty, I promise you."

  Dominic watched her race across the meadow, smiling when she flung her arms around Jester's neck in obvious delight. All the effort to save the injured horse had been worth the trouble, he decided. Swinging down from his horse, he tethered Diablo to a branch, the followed Brie across the meadow.

  She looked up when he approached, and Dominic's heart skipped a beat at the lovely picture she made. The ribbon holding her hair had come undone, and the vibrant tresses cascaded over her shoulders, shining like fire in the sunlight. She had been crying and her eyes sparkled like emeralds through her tears. Seeing her happiness, Dominic wished it were his neck she had wrapped her arms around, rather than the bay's.

  "Dominic, I . . . Thank you," Brie said simply, gazing up at him.

  He took a step closer, reaching out to gently brush away a glistening teardrop.

  Brie caught her breath at the tenderness in his gray eyes. When Dominic drew her into his arms, she went willingly. He looked at her for a long moment, then lowered his head slowly, just letting his lips brush hers.

  Brie was lost. With an anguished moan, she melted against him, needing to feel his arms around her, needing his strength and warmth and love. Her hands clutched at his shoulders for support, digging into the rippling muscles beneath his shirt. When Dominic's lips grew more demanding, more insistent, she opened to his searching tongue, responding with all the passion she was capable of.

  He kissed her fiercely, as if he were starving for the taste of her. His hands stroked her hair, her shoulders, her back, communicating his feverish need. Brie could feel her own desire mounting, and she knew she had to stop him soon, before they both lost complete control. She pressed her hands against his chest . . . yet when his kisses moved lower on her throat, leaving a fiery trail, she arched against him, wanting him with a fierceness that left her weak.

  "Dominic!" One of his hands had slid up to cup her breast, making her ache with longing.

  He didn't even raise his head. "Brie," he rasped huskily against her throat, "You wouldn't happen to be concealing a whip or pistol, would you?"

  "No," she answered in a ragged voice. "Why?"

  "Because I'm going to make love to you. Right here, right now." Working her shirttail loose from the waistband of her breeches, he slipped his hands beneath her chemise and slowly ran them up her ribcage.

  Brie gasped at the warm shock that coursed through her when his fingers found her rigid nipples. "Here?" she said breathlessly, intensely aroused by the wicked things his hands were doing to her bare breasts.

  "Yes, my little torment," he growled with mock fierceness. "You've been driving me mad for days and now I mean to make you pay."

  As if he
could wait no longer, Dominic swung Brie up in his arms and with long strides, carried her beyond the curve of trees where they would be sheltered from prying eyes.

  He laughed as he lowered her to the sun-warmed grass. "This reminds me of the day I found you here," he murmured. "I would have made love to you then, only you held me off with your crop."

  "Aren't you forgetting there was snow on the ground?"

  Stretching out beside her, Dominic propped himself up on one elbow. "No, my sweet. The snow wasall that kept you from being seduced that day."

  Brie smiled as she wrapped her arms about Dominic's neck. "You, my lord, are a scandalous rake."

  "Perhaps, but I intend to give up my rakish ways. You've ruined me for anyone else, you know." Wrapping an arm possessively around her waist then, Dominic gazed down into her eyes.

  Brie arched an eyebrow. "Does that mean you intend to remain faithful to me?"

  "I'll definitely give the matter some consideration," he replied thoughtfully. "Ouch!" he yelped when she made a fist and pretended to punch him in the shoulder.

  Grinning, he pinned her arms over her head. His lips hovered teasingly over hers as he regarded her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "You really ought to try persuasion, ma belle, if you wish to keep me from straying. In fact, I suggest you begin now. It just might take you all day and all night."

  Brie's laugh was low and throaty, a sound that stirred Dominic's blood with its sensuousness. "Actually," she replied, "that sounds like a delightful prospect. But don't you think the nights are still far too cold to spend them under the stars? I wouldn't want the bridegroom to catch a chill and miss his own wedding."

  "Oh, no. Brie. You won't be rid of me so easily," Dominic declared. "And in any case," he said huskily before his mouth covered hers, "I doubt if I will even feel the cold. I've found an accommodating vixen to keep me warm."

  Three days later, a travelling coach pulled by four perfectly matched bays drew up in front of the imposing country mansion belonging to Sir James Torpal. The ebony-haired gentleman who stepped down from the carriage was dressed for a morning call, but he appeared to be in no particular hurry to carry out his errand. He stood on the gravel drive for a long moment, looking up at the house as if trying to determine a way to breach the walls without resorting to the normal mode of entering through the front door.

  When the door was opened by an elderly retainer, though, the gentleman gave a shrug of his shoulders and made his way, somewhat reluctantly, up the broad flight of steps. He presented his card to the butler and stated his purpose for coming, and when the fellow had gone off to announce him, he permitted himself a faint smile; by not so much as a flicker of an eyelid had the well-trained servant betrayed either astonishment or curiosity.

  The gentleman's arrival had a pronounced effect on the lady of the house, however. Upon learning the name of her visitor, Lady Harriet paled and clutched at the arm of the chair in which she was seated.

  A tall, slender woman, Harriet Torpal had features that were elegant rather than pretty. Her dark, chestnut hair, graying at the temples, made her appear striking, as did her penetrating gray eyes. Her normally calm demeanor was not in evidence, though, for it had been badly shaken.

  Needing to compose herself, Lady Harriet insisted on a few moments respite before the gentleman was shown into her salon, even though she doubted whether a week would be sufficient time to accustom herself to the idea of a voluntary visit from her son.

  She had recovered outwardly at least when he appeared. He paused at the door, seeming to fill the entire room with his presence, and she clasped her hands together to still their trembling. "Dominic." The word was uttered with less confidence than she had intended, and her whisper almost went unheard amid the rustle of her skirts as she rose to greet him.

  It had been well over three years since she had even seen Dominic, but it had been almost a lifetime since she had had the right to claim him as her son. He was a stranger to her, even though he was her own flesh and blood. But as she stood staring at the dark features that were so reminiscent of her first husband, she became aware of a subtle but unmistakable message in her son's intent gaze. The gray eyes that were so exactly like her own were speaking to her in silent communication, making her wince with their honesty.

  It was the moment in her life that she had longed for, yet dreaded. The one moment she had thought lost to her. She had never been able to reach him, and now he was reaching out to her, without condemnation, without pity. He was offering himself.

  She could hardly speak. "You know?" It was more a statement than a question, and even before Dominic answered with a nod of his dark head, her knees gave way.

  Instantly he was at his mother's side, helping her into her chair. When she was seated, he knelt before her and carried her fingers to his lips. "You must not faint on me, my lady," Dominic said, giving her a tender smile. "Not when I have travelled such a distance to humbly beg your forgiveness. See, I am down on my knees."

  Affection swelled in her breast as she gazed at him, and she hesitantly reached out to touch his cheek. "The blame was never yours, Dominic, but mine. You were only a child. You could not have known . . . your father's failings."

  "All these years," he said gently. "Why did you never tell me about him?"

  "Would you have believed me?"

  Dominic's lips curved ruefully. "Probably not. I've only lately come to realize that I have an extremely stubborn propensity to believe what I wish about people, even when the truth is staring me in the face. Rather arrogant of me, isn't it, to think that my judgment is infallible?"

  Again she reached out to touch his cheek, and her gray eyes were shining with tears. "Please, Dominic, don't say such things. I deserved to lose your love. Your rejection was entirely understandable, although it broke my heart to see you turn from me."

  He returned her gaze steadily. "You did not deserve my contempt all these years. I am truly sorry, maman."

  Lady Harriet was clearly startled to hear Dominic address her as he had when he was a child, but she was also clearly pleased. She flushed and shook her head. "Even so, I will always regret that I couldn't find the courage to defy Philippe and take you with me when I left him. Things might have been so different between us, had I not been such a coward."

  "I suspect 'coward' is rather too strong a word."

  "Perhaps. But how did you come to learn the truth?"

  She listened quietly as Dominic told her about Sir Charles Durham and the events leading to his death, all the while keeping her eyes trained on the Axminster carpet. Dominic spared her many of the details, only touching briefly on his shooting of Sir Charles and his later, nearly fatal duel with Germain.

  When he finished speaking, Lady Harriet looked away, gazing blindly at the Adam fireplace. "It . . . it is difficult for me to think about your father, even now. I'm afraid the comte was . . . not a good man."

  Dominic could see how pale her face had become and how hard she was biting her lower lip. "No," he agreed. "He was not a good man."

  Lady Harriet lifted her eyes to her son's. "I regret that you discovered it, Dominic."

  "I only regret that I didn't discover it sooner," he returned grimly. "If I had, I might have realized why you so often avoided me when I was a child, why you kept to your rooms for days at a time. Your absences were not because you lacked affection for me, were they? They were due to my father's depravity."

  She nodded, bowing her head to hide her tears. "I had always been told it was a woman's duty to submit to her husband, but no one ever explained to me exactly what that entailed. I was so naive I didn't recognize Philippe's . . . perversions for what they were. We had been married several years before he began to find even those . . . less than satisfying. Philippe began to beat me. Generally, I could hide the bruises, for he was careful with my face. It would not have done for his countess to appear bearing scars for all the world to see. After a time, I even became grateful for the beatings. They were nothing com
pared with what he preferred doing . . . in other ways."

  It was well that Lady Harriet was avoiding Dominic's eyes, for the fury in the gray depths would have frightened her. She went on in a low voice, needing to explain to him why she had left her husband and young son. "That spring Philippe allowed me to visit my father. I didn't want to leave you behind, but I knew I could never force myself to go back to Philippe. I could no longer bear the . . . the degrading life he forced me to live." Her voice broke then, and she buried her face in her hands.

  Seeing his mother's anguish, Dominic thought it best to change the subject, but his fists were clenched and he had difficulty keeping his tone level. "You did not seem surprised to hear about Lisette Durham. Did you know before today what had happened?"

  Lady Harriet took a shuddering breath. "I did not know of her death, but I did know what Philippe had done to her. You see, Philippe was furious with me for leaving him. He wrote to me, first threatening me, then you, Dominic. But I knew him well. He would never have harmed a hair on your head. He preferred women . . . weak and fearful women. It added to his feeling of power. It was August when I received his last letter saying he no longer wanted me to return. He had found someone else whose screams excited him more than mine."

  She was silent for a time, and when Dominic silently offered her a linen handkerchief, she accepted it with a tearful smile. When she had dried her eyes, Lady Harriet reached out and grasped Dominic's hand, holding it to her cheek. "I have few tears left, but it is a relief to share them with someone. I have never told a soul what I have just told you, Dominic, not even James. For a while after Philippe died, I kept the letters he wrote me—as a sort of protection at first. Then later, I thought perhaps to show them to you. I burned them, though, when I wed again."

  "Well," Dominic said softly, "there may have been many misunderstandings between us in the past, but now they are over."

  "Yes. I only hope that . . . that we might become friends."

  Hearing her wistful tone, Dominic gave her a tender smile, the kind that never failed to win female hearts. "Nothing would please me more, maman. But if you have no objection," he said, rising and dusting his knees with his hand, "I will begin our friendship from a more comfortable position. I always suspected that humbling myself would be painful, but I never realized just how hard it could be on the knees."