Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  He pulled her unceremoniously out of the carriage. After the dimness inside, the morning sun hurt her eyes.

  “Oh…love. Look at your poor hand. Why didn’t you say something earlier? I’d no idea your pugilistic abilities were exceeded only by your talents at fencing.”

  “Shut up, Gillian Tremayne. Just shut up,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “We’ll need cool water. That was probably the most insane thing you ever did. How the hell do you propose to hold onto your mount’s reins?”

  “With my teeth if need be!”

  “Spare the dramatics. Please? I’ve a headache, you’re crippled, and Renee didn’t include any food or drink, the greedy bugger. About the only thing in our favor is that yonder palace doesn’t have anyone in residence to question us.”

  She looked up. The stillness should’ve alerted her, if nothing else. It was another chateau burned almost to the ground, only this one had less standing than Chateau Montriart. The sight didn’t inspire confidence.

  “Where are we, Gil?”

  “Who knows? Find a retainer to answer that while I hide the carriage in the stables. Oh. I’ll rephrase. The remains of what used to be the stables. We’ve been following a road, and then it became a trail, and well. I meant to leave it earlier, but I might as well confess I got lost for a while, and, well...”

  He shrugged and moved to unharness the horses while she stared with wide eyes.

  “We’re lost?” She fought to control her rising panic.

  “A temporary situation. Goddamn it to—!”

  He didn’t finish the curse as the jacket tore cleanly down the center while he lifted the bit from the horse’s mouth. Helene burst out laughing. She couldn’t stop even when it changed to tears. Her hand throbbed too much, he had trouble keeping his clothing in one piece, and the only bit of good news looked to be his expertise with horses.

  “Of course you’d find it amusing, Helene. I hope you’re still laughing when we have to continue on tonight with empty stomachs, unless I can find an egg or two. Oh, love. Stop crying.”

  The tenderness of his fingers on her cheek matched his voice. It might even match the emotion in his eyes. She did dare delve into it and looked down first.

  “We’d best go see if the well’s still working. We’ll survive if we have water…and as an added benefit, we’ll have something cool for your hand. Whatever possessed you to…?”

  He didn’t finish. He just shook his head, took up her uninjured hand, and led the way.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You know…all things considered, I’m a bit too old for this kind of honeymoon, Lady Tremayne”

  Helene giggled from her position against Gil’s leg, then went back to watching the clouds. After eating thick baked slices of ham, bread, and wine that Gil had procured from an amazingly hospitable farm wife, and having her hand solidly wrapped in strips of soaked cotton from his under-drawers, Helene felt surprisingly content to simply sit and watch the clouds.

  “I’m not complaining, mind you....”

  He stopped and yawned. She pictured it in her mind, and then copied him.

  “I’m actually quite grateful I decided to marry you at the ripe age of almost twenty-seven, especially with my recent experience of this blissful state. That was good ham, wasn’t it?”

  She murmured her agreement.

  “We’d best seek yon carriage in which to sleep. I’ve no desire to move even that far, but we’ll need rest if we’re going to make Le Havre sometime in this life.”

  “Can’t we simply...stay here?” She paused to yawn again, and he chuckled.

  “Not much roof left, darling. I shudder to think what the sun would do to skin as white as yours.”

  “I hope they didn’t suffer, Gillian.” She looked through the remains of the chateau’s walls.

  “Come, Helene, before you get maudlin again and ruin an excellent meal, if I do say so myself.”

  “I’ve already told you how wonderful you were to get that woman to give you her supper, Gil. You don’t expect eternal gratitude, do you?”

  “She’s eaten more suppers than both of us combined, and I’d endure your eternal devotion if I had to.”

  “Gratitude, Gillian.”

  “I like my word choice better, Madame. Now heave off and let me up.”

  He lifted his leg, and she rose with it, then stood swaying as he joined her. It was strange how a full stomach changed everything, and she held onto his hand with her good one. He’d made a passable bed between the benches, although it was small and cramped, but it looked more inviting than any she’d seen, including the monstrosity in the Peacock Palace.

  “Allow me, Madame.”

  He bowed with a flourish before lifting her into his arms, then backed awkwardly into the carriage. It hadn’t occurred to her he’d never fit in the makeshift bed, and she stifled giggles as he bumped into the sides twice before finding a suitable spot.

  She was quite comfortable atop him, and there wasn’t any part of her that wanted to move.

  You know, Gil, I could sleep on a bench,” she said.

  “I’ve seen you sleep before, Helene. I’m quite certain you weren’t speaking while you did so. Quite certain.”

  She giggled again, felt his arms tighten around her, and slept.

  ***

  It was too bad he didn’t wake in the same mood he’d gone to sleep. And it was hardly Helene’s fault that his legs were asleep and his arm numb. He cursed everyone from Fontenelle to Helen, and then added Helene as an oversight. And that was most unfair. As if it was her fault they’d slept past nightfall with the entire French army after them!

  She longed to point out the ridiculous nature of that last statement, but he was onto another topic to rail against, and the fact that she couldn’t ride would really upset him.

  There wasn’t a sidesaddle, or even a saddle, but she kept her fear to a minimum as he set her atop one of the horses, both legs dangling down one side. She hid absolute fear as she wormed the fingers of her uninjured hand into the creature’s mane, and then made a fist about the hair.

  “Damn your temper, anyway, Madame. Why…if I thought it would do any good, I really would spank you for taking a swing at me. To what end? Hold this.”

  He held out the other rein. Helene stared at it for a moment, fought the rising panic and then forced her hand to loosen from the mane and reach. But nothing controlled the shaking. Sweet heaven! He was giving her control of both animals? After the experience in the park? Helene held her tongue, begging the horses not to bolt. She couldn’t see perishing of broken neck amid the ruins of another ill-fated aristocrat’s chateau. That would just be too ironic.

  “Now. Hold him steady, love.”

  Steady?

  Gil backed a few steps and then ran at them, and her mouth flew open as he jumped right onto the horse’s back behind her, and then shimmied into place.

  “Very good. Truly. You’re hired to hold all my horses.”

  He wrapped both arms around her, one taking the reins, the other wrapping about her waist, pulling her tightly against him. That was the exact moment she decided this was the most perfect honeymoon a woman could want.

  “I’m rather glad you can’t sit your own mount now that I experience this.”

  The arm around her tightened, and she smiled. She didn’t answer. She was afraid of the emotion swelling her tongue, warming her heart, soothing any aches.

  “Just think. We’re traveling slower, but we’ll have a fresh horse to change out. Perhaps that little slap you gave me wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”

  He should’ve stopped talking and let her stay unaware of what he meant. She sighed.

  “What?”

  “Be brave, my overcome heart!”

  She clasped both hands to her bosom in a dramatic fashion, smacking against the gold and ruby necklace.

  “What the devil does that mean?”

  “Oh. Nothing.”

  The road lay b
efore them, soaked in moonlight, causing her to wonder how many centuries of French nobles had taken this same path on a night just like this. Perhaps after celebrating at a neighboring estate. And then she started talking, speaking of memories, hidden so deep they shouldn’t even survive, let alone surface.

  “My grandfather wanted me betrothed to the Marquis de Chevalier’s oldest son.”

  Gillian grunted.

  “Papa would have none of it. He wanted me to have a choice…just as my mother had. He even planned a debut. Not only here, but in England if need be. It was a source of disagreement between them, but Papa won.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  Her mouth twisted as she considered it. “I don’t think so, but I haven’t much idea what it means, anyway.”

  “Well. It won’t do you much good now. A debut is to snare a bridegroom and you do seem to have accomplished that already. There is, of course, Helen’s suggestion…but I can’t see annulling our union just to give her a clear field with me again. I don’t fancy she thought through what marriage to me would mean, but I’m not a fool like Chaffin. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have lost any duel.”

  The horse snorted simultaneously with Gil finishing his speech. Helene smiled at the impromptu show of masculine solidarity.

  “Does Helen truly want you back?” she asked.

  “Believe it or not, Madame, I wouldn’t have to defend Helen’s request to anyone else in known society. She said she did, and I have no reason to think she lied. I’ll have you know I was considered a catch in the marriage mart. At least, it was inferred that any direction I cared to point my suit would be appreciated. Several marriage-minded fathers made certain I knew of it over the years, as well.”

  He stiffened against her side while she matched the unseen outrage with his voice.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. Gillian.”

  “Of course you did, and you certainly know how to strike at a man’s pride, don’t you?”

  “I said I was sorry. What else do you want?”

  “A bit of appreciation wouldn’t be amiss.”

  “What would you like me to say? I consider marriage to you the absolute height of my ambition?”

  “That would do for a start. But we both know you don’t mean it.”

  “Do you want an annulment, Gil?”

  She held her breath, dreading the answer, and his sudden silence was a bad sign. She twisted her neck to see him, but he was just a dark blot against a dark sky.

  “I haven’t given it much thought, actually,” he finally answered.

  She caught her lip and turned forward again, so thankful that she knew how to hide her reactions so well. If he stuck daggers into parts of her that didn’t show, he’d never know. The road shimmered as her tears dried, unshed. And she hadn’t betrayed herself by so much as a breath.

  “Do you?”

  He asked it then, and she swore he was holding his breath.

  “It would give the Binghams control of me again, Gillian.”

  “Oh, of course. There is that. There’s also the little matter of the consummation to consider. Let’s remember that things have changed along that line, haven’t they?”

  “Yes. Things have definitely changed.”

  She was surprised at how cool and calm she sounded. The real Helene would’ve been crying her eyes out, begging him to love her just a little bit, but Lady Tremayne was a different sort entirely. She had control of her emotions. And knew how to hide them.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to sleep, will you? We’ve a long ride ahead of us, Helene. It’ll be immeasurably longer if you insist on soul-searching through it.”

  His arms trembled slightly as he spoke, making the tears even more difficult to banish.

  ***

  Gil was glad it was dark, yet he was angry about it, too. And that was just one of his emotional issues. He couldn’t possibly continue to hold her close, while every beat from his heart sent pain. It was dark enough he had nothing else to focus on. Even the scent of her hair beneath his nose sent ache with each inhalation.

  Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this! He wasn’t supposed to be fretful, and falling deeper into the morass of trouble with every passing minute. Love was supposed to be blissful. Heavenly. Heart-warming. Not this…this… Descriptions failed him. He hadn’t truly known what love was until Helene. And what happened? She failed to return it.

  It wasn’t possible. Every other woman he’d been with had said it with almost every other sentence. Love became a vacuous bit of fluff. Mere words put into play to match passion-filled embraces. Not this…yearning feeling. Aching. Longing.

  What he wouldn’t give to hear her say it again. But all she did was send words at him like disgusting. Barbaric. Boorish. Never love. And how he craved that very thing! Like that first night. In the gazebo. When she’d thought him drunk. She’d said she loved him then. Perhaps that had been passion talking. He’d been her first, after all…but she’d told Colonel Fontenelle the same thing! He’d heard it. The thrill had been difficult to contain and still maintain the façade he’d been hiding behind. And what happened? She’d reneged almost immediately. Going back to hating him. Despising him. Lying to him.

  Then again, the dark night all about helped hide the torment sure to be on his face. She was expert in tossing that at him. He wondered what it was about her that sent him reeling, anyway. She wasn’t the most stunning woman he’d ever known or even the type that most appealed to him, yet every other woman became a faceless nonentity from the moment Helene had inserted herself into his life.

  That she might want an annulment could easily drive him mad.

  He’d shown her his love in the only way he knew. And it wasn’t enough. He didn’t even care if she lied anymore. She was welcome to her wild stories — and any others she cared to invent — as long as she turned those brandy-colored eyes on him occasionally.

  Gil shoved the nagging suspicion down that she was telling the truth, or a portion of it. He couldn’t allow himself to think about it, despite what Renee had said about the house on Concord Street. It wasn’t possible. Helene couldn’t have lived there and stayed virginal. She had to be lying.

  Because if she wasn’t…?

  There was no any description black enough to fit what Gil had done by taking her back into it. He’d rather face a thousand Colonel Fontenelles and a battalion of French soldiers than his conscience if Helene had actually been here during the horrors of—.

  He stopped his thoughts. He refused to consider it. He couldn’t. The consequences were too vast. He didn’t know if he’d be able to face her if she was telling the truth, and he’d brought her right back into a hell he couldn’t comprehend.

  No.

  He wasn’t allowing the thought! She had a lying tongue. She was a spectacular actress. She wove fictional stories. That was the only thing he dared believe.

  Helene sagged against his chest, and he realized she slept. That made it safe for Gil to lean against her head a bit, filling his nostrils with her particular scent and salving the ache that grew daily in his heart. She had a wondrous smell. She probably knew it. Why else would she have taken such pains to make certain it was masked at the sanatorium?

  He looked blankly at the dim path, breathed deeply, and actually longed to thank Prime Minister Pitt for making this little excursion happen. Gil knew his mother was probably in the smelling salts, leaving Bridget with her hands full taking care of her, but that was the least of his troubles. To think he’d once longed to actually be here. Right where he was. On the enemy’s shore. Evading capture....

  And look. Here he was. Without even a weapon. Surviving by his wits. He’d have given his right arm for the experience only a few months earlier. And now? Now all he wanted was a warm meal, soft bed, and the little vixen he held in his arms. He didn’t care if she spit hate at him or tried to mangle her other hand against his face as long as she was there.

  That settled it. If she wanted an
annulment, she’d have to find grounds first, and he was doing his best to eliminate any there might be...as long as she wasn’t telling the truth about herself.

  Oh God. He prayed she wasn’t.

  Every time she brought up the subject of her childhood, he stopped her anymore. He couldn’t possibly listen at the ruined chateau or on Concorde Street. She didn’t realize how the little things ate at him. She’d bribed the maid with diamonds from the necklace he just bought her! She’d been so driven to find Sherry’s old room that she used his gift. It was unconscionable. Impossible. It was a story she’d invented to while away her boredom.

  It had to be. Anything else was…

  Damn it! He refused to think it.

  ***

  “Are we there yet?”

  Helene lifted from the comfort of Gil’s shoulder and looked around, rubbing sleep from her eyes as dawn starting tinting the sky.

  ‘That depends on what you mean by there, love.”

  Gil grinned and her glance skittered away. That was worrisome. Or wondrous. And that was the trouble. He didn’t know what she felt, or why she refused to meet his gaze.

  “Oh look!” she pointed. “Buildings! Is it…a town? Does that mean we’ll eat a real meal and sleep in an actual bed?”

  “Not unless you can explain my lack of regiment, and your evening attire…which, I might point out, while being very attractive…is not the sort of thing women wear while riding cross country. And lastly…we can’t afford the time. Sorry love, but we’ve been lucky thus far. I’m certain even Fontenelle has noticed our absence by now, although how a mere Englishman of few brains managed to elude him is probably giving him more than a moment’s disquiet.”

  She giggled and snuggled close to him. He caught the impulse to tighten his arms.

  “You’re sorry? Oh, Gillian, such fustian. I’m the one who’s been sleeping. You must be exhausted.”

  She pulled away to turn and look toward him. And this time it was his eyes that shifted away. He cleared his throat.

  “I’ll admit to hunger. Will that suffice?”

  “You’ll purchase a meal? Oh, Gill, that would be wondrous! And…I hate to mention it, but I’ll need a moment or two to myself.”