“Love me again,” she whispered, pushing back against him.
A low sound of pleasure vibrated in his throat as he rocked forward reflexively. “Later, when you’ve had a chance to—”
“Please, Brandon,” she implored, feeling the sting of tears gather in her eyes. “I need you. I don’t want this sunrise to end.”
He didn’t respond at first. But she could feel his thoughts turning, along with the chaotic clamoring of his heart at her back. Then he kissed the curve of her neck and the exposed crest of her shoulder where the shirt draped open.
Frustrated tears slipped out in a hot rush from beneath her eyelids. She thought that was his answer.
But then his warm hand swept under the soft linen, massaging and stroking her gently over her back and bottom. His careful attention moved to the front of her body, around to her middle, to her breasts and between her legs. He lingered there, pressing hot kisses to her nape as the length of his finger coasted circles around the pulsing bud. Then he edged inside the slippery sheath and his breath shuddered across her damp skin. The sound excited her. Her hips pushed eagerly back against him at his slow, searching rhythm, her inner muscles gripping tightly, propelling her closer toward another climax.
Just before it overtook her, she felt him shift, his leg sliding between hers, the broad head of his sex at her entrance, the careful nudge inside, the tender burning sting. And then he filled her in slow, liquid thrusts, in and in, until they were both lost and falling endlessly over the precipice into molten pools of rapture that chased away the nightmares.
At least, for now.
Chapter 30
“Being overcome by passion isn’t as terrible as society matrons would have you believe.”
—A note for The Marriage Habits of the Native Aristocrat
Brandon took Ellie back to the house, navigating the halls to return her to her bedchamber without being seen. She was sluggish and sleepy and he had to keep her tucked against his side the whole way, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he felt a smug grin on his lips as he thought about the cause.
Thankfully, he knew all the passageways and the schedule of the servants, so he’d managed it. And yet . . . if it had been impossible not to touch her before, now it was a physical ache not to have her skin against his.
Once they finally reached her chamber, he locked the door and kissed her again, holding her as close as he could without being inside her. “Damn, but I don’t want to leave you.”
She smiled against the corner of his mouth, her lips parting as if she were about to say something. But then she yawned. Curling against him, she rested her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his waist beneath his coat. “Can we stop the world and crawl into bed together?”
“We could,” he said, temptation whispering in his ear as his hands wandered over the placket of buttons down her back. “But stopping the world comes at a price.”
If they were caught together, she would have no choice but to marry him. And he wanted her to choose him without reservation, instead of being forced by circumstance.
She gazed up at him thoughtfully, the light of understanding in those amber pools. After a moment, she laid her hand over his heart and said, “Perhaps not today, then.”
He nodded, willing to delay their inevitable conversation. Brandon wasn’t about to propose when her eyes were skittish and wary.
Besides, he’d already planned out the whole thing days ago. First, he would persuade her back into the boat, but on the river this time. Of course, that would take a while. However, once he managed that feat, he would row beneath the arch of the marriage bridge. They would stop for a picnic along the bank. Then, with her lying beside him on the blanket, he would kiss her tenderly, confess the contents of his soul and ask her to be his wife. Afterward, they would row upstream through the second arch as Stredwick tradition dictated and announce their happy news to one and all. And he would try not to gloat too much in Nethersole’s face.
With the morning sun shining through her open windows, he undressed her again, marveling at her beauty and the overwhelming joy inside him. A blush still tinged her cheeks and lingered in pink patches over the upper portion of her chest, having bloomed during her climax. He loved knowing all the alterations in her skin’s hue when she was either shy or aroused.
Unable to help himself, he kissed the crests of her cheeks and nuzzled softly into her plump mouth. But before he forgot himself, he pulled back the coverlet and eased her down onto the bed, carefully removing the pins from her hair. All the while, she gazed up at him, her dark lashes drowsily dipping lower.
“I’ll order a bath sent to your room as soon as I leave,” he said and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he tucked her in.
She shook her head. “Please don’t. The servants . . .”
He understood. The servants, no matter how excellent or pure their intentions, would likely talk. They were too eager for Crossmoor Abbey to be a home again and filled with children and life. So was he.
She reached out and took his hand. “Thank you for giving me the chance to settle things. I’m glad you understand that it wouldn’t be right to make plans just yet. At least, not until I’ve talked to George. After all, we’ve been planning an entirely different future for most of our lives.”
Hearing the “we” and the “our” told him that she was still having trouble imagining the rest of her life without George. She didn’t say it aloud. Then again, she didn’t have to.
A dark shadow threatened his bright mood, but Brandon shrugged it off, refusing to allow the ghost of his past to rear up again.
Leaning down, he tucked Ellie in. “Rest for now. We’ll talk about this later.”
He’d been patient this long. What was another day or two in the grand scheme of their lives?
* * *
It was nearly noon when Ellie left her bedchamber.
For the first time in her life, she hadn’t wanted to wake up. She’d been lulled by wonderful, clover-filled dreams of moonsets and sunrises with soft velvety eyes staring down into hers. She hadn’t wanted them to end.
The young mob-capped maid, who was so used to her mistress being dressed and ready to head down to breakfast, was doubtless startled to find her still asleep and with hardly a stitch on underneath the bedclothes.
Ellie blinked open her eyes in time to see the maid lift the yellow dress from the foot of her bed and frown at the damp hem. “I . . . um . . . went for a walk early this morning . . . much, much too early . . . then decided to come back to bed.”
“Oh, Miss Elodie!” Henrietta fretted, her pale brows knitting above a freckled nose. “You ought not wander around on your own before there’s anyone about. You never know what trouble might befall you. Why, in a few more days, the village festival will be in full swing. Last year, we had a visiting troupe of carnival people.” She mentioned the last in the barest whisper, her eyes wide, as if she feared they were lurking behind the drapes, ready to spring out and begin juggling apples and knives.
“Thank you for your concern. I will be more careful in the future.”
“I should hope you are, miss. His lordship would not wish you to come to harm.”
At the mere mention of Brandon, Ellie’s heart raced and the heat of a blush climbed to her cheeks. She averted her gaze and decided it was best to sit up and get on with her day as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the sudden movement brought her attention to the bruised soreness she felt in places that she’d never been much aware of before.
Not only that, but her stomach rumbled. Loudly.
Henrietta giggled. “I’m sure his lordship would insist on having the kitchens send up a tray for you, since you slept through breakfast.”
“That would be most welcome,” she said, placing a hand over her middle to quiet another thunderous growl. “And, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d also like a bath.”
The maid tilted her head in inquiry and glanced down to the damp hem once more. But b
efore Ellie could determine whether or not a hint of suspicion crossed her gaze, Henrietta bobbed a curtsy and said, “I’ll order it straightaway,” then left the bedchamber.
A short while later, Ellie eased into the steaming slipper tub, forgetting all about her conversation with Henrietta. Lying back, she rested her nape against the curved lip and closed her eyes, the hot water soothing the tender aches of her intimate flesh.
She was surprised to discover her mind wandering to the future—a future at Crossmoor Abbey. More sunrises with Brandon. Walking hand in hand, amidst endless gardens and meadows. For just a moment, she even imagined the tinkling laughter of children with bronze curls and mossy green eyes. And it was such a lovely daydream that her heart ached.
But her inner worrier chimed in, wondering if this feeling was longing or uncertainty?
Strangely, the first person Ellie wanted to speak to about her confusion was Brandon. Perhaps that was an answer, in and of itself.
Leaving her bedchamber in a fresh rose muslin, she walked the corridors toward Brandon’s study. Her thoughts were preoccupied and in a jumble of hope, love and guilt. She wondered how to tell George that everything had changed, and that the life she’d always thought they’d have together was now—
“There you are!” Meg said, appearing suddenly around the corner.
A choked yelp lodged in Ellie’s throat. “Meg! You startled the life out of me.”
In the same instant, Meg said, “I have been looking everywhere for you.”
Before Ellie could ask the reason, Meg quickly drew her into a nearby parlor and peered both ways down the corridor before she closed the door.
“Where have you been?” she asked, her tone scolding.
Ellie’s cheeks instantly flushed with the vivid recollection of every moment she’d spent with Brandon. Another rush of guilt followed, this time for having kept so many secrets from her friend. “I was . . . a slugabed this morning. Couldn’t seem to rouse myself.”
Taking her hand, Meg stared at her with concern, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that all?”
Ellie swallowed. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
“I heard talk from the servants just now. Apparently, there’s speculation over a damp hem and you walking the grounds in the early hours . . .” Meg worried her bottom lip and looked askance as if it pained her to finish. “Just please tell me you weren’t with Lord Nethersole.”
“With Lord—What? No! Of course not.” Her own alarm must have eased her friend’s fears for Meg expelled a sigh.
“Good. That is such a relief, I cannot say. I overheard talk that he, too, was out early this morning, which is quite unlike him according to the servants at the lodge who say he rarely rises before noon. And, not only that, but Hamlet is gone from the stables.”
Ellie’s pulse started to race. On their return, Brandon had ridden Samson, keeping her curled on his lap. Instead of going to the stables, however, he stopped at the house to secret her inside, leaving the stallion tethered. So she had no idea if George had been awake that early, when he’d borrowed the horse . . . or if he happened to see Ellie and Brandon together.
“I regret that you were worried. You needn’t have been on my account, and I’m sure that George will return Hamlet to the stables in no time at all. I cannot imagine what he could be up to at such an hour.”
“I heard something else, as well,” Meg added. “One of the scullery maids said that she’s seen Lord Nethersole in the village on a number of occasions in the past year. And not only that but . . . he was seen talking to Miss Thorogood.”
Ellie frowned. The past year? That was impossible. He would have mentioned something to her, surely. “The maid must have been mistaken. Lord Nethersole has only been searching for properties here for a few weeks. Though, it stands to reason that, when he encountered an acquaintance he knew through me, he felt obliged to greet her. I’m sure there’s nothing more to it.”
And yet, he’d never mentioned meeting Prue. Neither had her friend for that matter.
“It seems perfectly innocent when you say it. I suppose, when one hears rumors through the serving staff, everything seems rather sordid.” Meg issued a rueful laugh then smiled. “I should have known better. I mean, after all, you’ve been spending far more time with Brandon than with Nethersole.”
Again, Ellie tried to swallow down a rise of guilt but it seemed to be lodged in her throat. “Your brother has been gracious enough to help me overcome my fears.”
“Then, you must trust him a great deal. Perhaps, even like him?”
Ellie’s shoulders deflated like empty bagpipes. It was no use. “Oh, Meg. I’m so sorry. I do like your brother. In fact . . . I’ve grown quite fond of him.”
“There’s no reason to apologize, you goose,” Meg said with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, I knew there was something between you from the beginning. My brother had never been so rude as he was to you that first day, and yet, the way he looked at you . . . Well, let’s just say, I’ve never seen him look at any other woman that way. And as for you, there’s always a blush on your cheeks when he’s near or even when we’re talking about him. Just like now. So tell me”—Meg’s hold on her hand turned to a playful swinging motion from side to side—“do you love him?”
She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Unbearably, I’m afraid.”
“And are you going to marry him?”
“Meg!”
“Well, are you?” She grinned unrepentantly. “After all, the least a true friend could do to make amends for falling in love with my brother is to become my sister.”
“Then you are not angry or disappointed with me?”
“Of course not. The only reason I could ever be cross with you is if you broke his heart.” Meg squeezed her fingers with affection, her blue eyes bright and happy. “And that is something you would never do.”
* * *
After her conversation with Meg, Ellie decided to walk the grounds instead of seeking out Brandon. She needed to think about the future without any distractions.
He’d come into her life so unexpectedly that she still wasn’t quite sure how it had all happened. How could crashing into him in a garden have led to all this?
It boggled the mind and it didn’t particularly look believable on the pages of her ledger. Her original plan of discovering the mysteries of the marriage-minded gentleman and using those tools to marry George would have turned out much better for the book’s success, she was sure. After all, how could she profess a knowledge on a subject she still didn’t understand?
It was all Brandon’s fault. He made everything seem simple, from courtship to conquering her fears. Too simple, in fact.
Her inner worrier wondered if, perhaps, she’d fallen in love too quickly. Could she trust this overwhelming feeling?
By comparison, her love for George had always reassured her. It was steady, enduring, and built on the solid foundation of years spent together. A lifetime. He was her first love. She’d always thought he would be her only. Her last. They had made plans, of a sort. And he was depending on her to be there for him when he was ready.
So how was she going to tell him that a lifetime of plans and the security they’d found in each other was gone?
Lost in these musings, she found herself walking amidst clover with the folly in the distance. And that was when she saw George cutting across the field.
She blanched, feeling the sting of betrayal on his behalf.
Catching sight of her, he waved a hand and slowed the horse, coming up beside her. “Fancy seeing you here. I was just thinking about you.”
Her lips curved in a reflexive smile at his greeting, but her stomach churned with guilt.
Then, recalling the news Meg had shared, she suddenly wondered if George had been thinking about her because he’d seen her with Brandon this morning . . . in the folly . . . in the pond . . . on the blanket . . .
Not knowing what he may have witnessed, she decided to pretend comple
te innocence. “Oh?”
“Indeed. I was just wondering why it seems an age since I’ve seen you,” he said, swinging down from his mount, oblivious to the relief he’d just given her. “I mean, here we are, practically living beneath the same roof, and yet we’ve hardly spent any time together. If I were the jealous sort, I might think you’re spending time with Hullworth instead.”
At once, her breath stalled in her throat. “I . . . well . . . actually—”
“But that’s preposterous.” He laughed, interrupting her before she could begin explaining. “I mean, you’re my Ellie and everyone knows it.”
Hmm, she thought, perhaps not everyone. “So . . . What had you up and about so early today? Settling business with your steward about the house you plan to rent?”
“How did you know I was out early?”
“The servants talk,” she said with a shrug to soothe the defensiveness in his tone. They turned away from the folly and began walking in the direction of the stables. “There was also mention of one of the scullery maids having seen you in the village before. It was even suggested that you might have chanced to see my friend, Prue, on occasion.”
He looked off in the distance with a frown. “I might have done but I hardly remember.”
Then it was as she expected. The encounters couldn’t have been of any consequence if neither he nor Prue thought to mention it. “Doubtless, if you had seen her, you would have felt obligated to extend a greeting. And there was nothing more to it.”
“Just so,” he agreed and his grin returned.
With that settled, she decided to plod forward with her own purpose. “Of course, there are times in a person’s life when he or she chances to meet someone purely by accident, and suddenly—”
“That’s just how I met with my old mate Lord Bewley the other day—by accident,” George interrupted. “We went hunting this morning. I, of course, bagged more than my share of birds. Did I tell you that his was the property I’d decided to rent? But that’s neither here nor there. What I want to say is that I’m going to keep that house as a hunting lodge. After all, every man needs his own domain, a place to engage in his own pursuits, unleash his robust passions. As for you, my Ellie, you will simply have to hold sewing circles and ladies’ teas at the other two houses.”
The Wrong Marquess EPB Page 31
