Undressed (Undone by Love)

by Kristina Cook

  Silence.

  She tried once more, rapping more forcefully this time. “Colin?” she called out, her voice betraying her hesitancy. “May I come in? I’d like to speak with ye.”

  Again, no response. She felt her palms dampen, but she reached for the door handle nonetheless. It turned easily, and she stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

  Brenna crept into the room and stopped in its center, her hands clasped together in front of her breasts. Colin sat slumped in his father’s chair, his shoulders hunched over and his head cradled in his hands. His hair was in disarray, and his cravat lay untied against his linen. Most worrisome was his silence. Not a single sound emanated from his person.

  Brenna hurried to his side, filled with anxiety and uncertainty.

  After several seconds, he looked up at her, and the unmasked pain, the raw anguish, she saw there in his countenance tore at her heart, taking her breath away.

  His jaw was clenched, his brow creased, but worst of all were his stormy, tormented eyes, glistening with unshed tears. No, of course he would not weep, and she knew just how dreadful it felt to hold in such grief, to refuse to give in to the tears that must be blinding him. She forced herself to breathe as he dropped his gaze, cradling his head in his hands once more.

  “Oh, Colin,” she whispered, her throat so tight it ached. She reached out to him, tentatively stroking his hair with her fingers. He reached up and clasped her hand to his face, pressing her palm against his stubbly cheek. Brenna held her breath as Colin turned his face into her hand. She felt his lips press into her palm, and she shuddered violently. “’Tis not your fault. Truly, ye mustn’t think that it is.”

  He looked up at her sharply. “But it is my fault, don’t you see?” His voice faltered. “We should never have taken up residence here.”

  She reached for his hand, but he pulled it from her grasp. He rose, pacing the floor like a caged animal. Abruptly he stopped, leaning into the wall, one arm flung above his head. Brenna could only stand motionless, staring at his back in confusion.

  Suddenly he pounded his fist against the plaster, rattling the portrait of some ancestor that hung from the moldings above. “Dammit, Brenna, I killed the bloody bastard, as sure as if I’d squeezed the life from him with my own hands.”

  She hurried to his side and reached for his sleeve. “Nay, Colin. Dinna say it. Ye canna think that way. ‘Twas only...the physician said...‘twas his heart. His heart was weak; it simply gave out.”

  “No!” he bellowed. “No, you don’t understand. We were arguing.”

  “Arguing?”

  “Yes, about Lucy—”

  “Lucy?” Brenna interrupted, a coldness settling in the pit of her stomach. “Why ever would ye be arguing about Lady Mandeville?”

  Colin stalked to the window, his fists clenched by his sides. He leaned against the sill, staring out into the inky night. “I cannot tell you. Devil take it, Brenna.” He shoved himself away from the window, flinging himself back into his father’s chair. “How can I live with myself? How can I take his title when it is my fault that—”

  “Stop,” she ordered. “Ye mustn’t blame yourself.” Kneeling on the carpet at his feet, she stroked his head, tears burning the corners of her eyes. “Please, Colin, I cannot bear it. I cannot watch ye suffer more than ye ought. ‘Tis breaking my heart.”

  She rose and gathered his head to her breast, stroking his hair as if he were a boy. His body trembled violently and then stilled. She pulled away and looked down into his tortured face. A vicious pain tore through her gut. Almost involuntarily, she moved her lips to his temple, her hands threading through his hair, so soft and silken. He didn’t move a muscle as her lips trailed lower, across his strong jawbone, where the taut muscles quivered beneath her mouth.

  Whatever was she doing? ‘Twas not the time for such things. She drew away in panic, but not before he pulled her down into his lap, his mouth slanting over hers. She sucked in her breath as his mouth possessed hers, his hands clutching at her bodice in desperation, tugging her sleeves from her shoulders. The room began to spin, and she struggled to her feet.

  She looked down and saw the surprise on his face, coupled with hurt and any number of other painful emotions. She shook her head, confused, as a quiver of fear shot through her.

  “Colin, I—”

  “Don’t apologize, Brenna. I understand perfectly.” He rose, hastening to the cart that held his father’s brandy.

  “No!” she cried. “No, you dinna understand. Your father is not even yet laid to rest, and your family is just down the corridor. ‘Tis neither the time nor the place for such things.”

  “Pray tell me, then, just when will the time be right? How many nights will you feign sleep while—”

  “Feign sleep? Ye think I was playacting to avoid ye? I waited up till near midnight last night, hoping to—”

  “Did you forget?” He picked up a tumbler and poured a small amount of the amber-colored liquid into it. “I was far too busy murdering my own father last night.”

  “Ye didna murder your father, Colin, but ye might tell me why ye were arguing.”

  “As I said before, I cannot tell you.”

  “I am your wife, Colin. Have ye forgotten that? I know that we...that we have not yet...” She trailed off, the now-familiar question once again nagging at her mind: Was Lady Mandeville his mistress? She had to know. “Lady Mandeville,” she whispered, “ye love her, don’t ye?”

  He whirled around to face her. “Of course I do.”

  Brenna sucked in her breath sharply.

  He hurled the half-empty glass across the room. Brenna flinched as it crashed against the mantel, shattering into a million tiny bits and sending a spray of golden liquid across the room.

  “Don’t you see?” he bellowed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  At once the door flew open, banging loudly against the wall. “I heard a crash,” Jane called out breathlessly, standing framed in the doorway. Her gaze flew from Brenna to Colin and back to Brenna again.

  Brenna looked down and saw that the front of her black crepe gown was damp, spattered with brandy. A tiny shard of glass had nicked her forearm, a thin trail of dark red blood tracing a path toward her hand.

  “Dear Lord, Colin! Whatever have you done to her?” Jane hurried across the room to Brenna’s side, plucking out the sliver of glass and pressing a handkerchief to the wound.

  “’Tis nothing, Jane. Just a nick, nothing more.”

  The color drained from Colin’s face. Without a word, he hastened to her side, pushing away Jane’s handkerchief and examining the cut with worry-filled eyes. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Nay, Colin. As I said, ‘tis nothing.”

  “What have I done?” he muttered, pressing his hands to his temples. “God help me, Brenna, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Of course ye didna mean to hurt me.” She reached for his sleeve, hot tears threatening her eyes. “Dinna fash about it, Colin. I’m perfectly well.”

  “I must go,” he said, his voice wavering. “I must get out of here.”

  “Colin, don’t.”

  “Nay, Colin.” Both women spoke at once, but he didn’t heed their pleas. Shaking off Brenna’s hand, he hurried through the open doorway. Seconds later, they heard the front door slam shut.

  Brenna reached for Jane’s hand. “I’ve only made matters worse,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “Much worse.”

  ***

  Hours later, Brenna awoke with a start. It was nearly dawn; a murky gray light was beginning to filter through the drapes, casting heavy, slanted shadows on the floor. She had stayed awake half the night, awaiting Colin’s return. Yet she’d never heard the fall of his footsteps, never heard the sound of the connecting door snapping shut. Had she slept through it? She rubbed her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  Dare she?

  With a lump of dread in her throat, she crossed the room and reache
d for the door that connected their chambers, still slightly ajar as she’d left it. She held her breath and listened carefully. Silence. Slowly, she pushed open the door and peered inside. The bed, draped in midnight blue velvet, was empty.

  “Looking for me?”

  Brenna jumped in surprise, her heart pounding furiously in her breast. Colin sat in the wing chair facing the window, shirtless, wearing nothing but his trousers.

  “Dear God, Colin. Ye just about frightened me to death.”

  “And what a shame that would be, dear wife. No, I’ve been the cause of enough death and mayhem this week. I fear you are safe enough tonight.”

  She swallowed hard. Just what was he about? His tone was cold, clipped. She’d never heard him speak this way, and it unnerved her. “When did ye arrive home?” she finally managed.

  “Not a half hour ago.”

  “But...but it’s nearly dawn. Ye stayed out all night?”

  “Why, yes, I did. How clever of you to deduce that.”

  A pang of jealousy stole across her heart. Had he been with another woman? Had he spent the night in some woman’s bed, some woman’s arms? Lady Mandeville’s, perhaps? The thought gnawed on her nerves, nipped at her chest uncomfortably. He’d been just about to tell her something about Lady Mandeville when Jane had burst into the study. What sort of confession had Jane interrupted? The pressing question had been burning in her mind for hours now, near enough driving her mad.

  Oh, why did the man always make her feel things she didn’t wish to feel? She swallowed hard, endeavoring to make her voice as steady and cool as possible before speaking.

  “Ye must excuse me, then. Undoubtedly ye wish to be alone.” She stumbled back through the open doorway.

  “Get back in here at once, Brenna!” he bellowed.

  Gooseflesh rose on her arms. This man was a stranger, not the affable, wry Colin she knew. She stood motionless, unable to obey his command yet unwilling to flee.

  In one quick motion, he rose from the chair and closed the distance between them, angrily reaching for her hand and pulling her toward him. “You are my wife, whether you like it or not, and you will do as I say.” His voice wavered slightly, his words starting to slur.

  Brenna wrinkled her nose. He reeked of cheap gin, and... Dear Lord. Was it a woman’s perfume—cheap perfume, at that—she smelled intermingling with the scent of liquor?

  “You’re drunk,” she bit out in disgust. “I’ll ask that ye unhand me at once.”

  “And I’ll ask that you remain right where you are.” He pulled her more tightly against him, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her. “Yes, I am drunk. What have you to say to that?”

  “I...I...” she stammered, unsure of her response. She couldn’t think clearly, not with him so close, holding her like this. “Just where have ye been all night? I dinna think it an appropriate time for ye to be out drinking and...and—”

  “Drinking and what? What were you going to accuse me of? Gambling? Whoring?”

  “You’re not yourself, Colin. You’re still in some sort of state, and I dinna think—”

  “I don’t give a horse’s ass what you think, Brenna. But just to put your mind at ease, I’ll confess I haven’t been with another woman tonight. I’m a married man, and unlike my dear old father, I honor my vows. Difficult as it may be for you to believe.”

  “I...I never said—”

  “But gambling...now that’s another story. I’m afraid you’ll have to forget about the new furnishings you’ve ordered for the town house. I went through quite a bit of blunt tonight and—”

  “How dare ye?” She shoved against his steely chest with all her might. “How dare ye?” Her voice rose a full pitch in indignation. “Haven’t ye enough troubles as it is?” She reached up a hand to strike him, but he caught it in midflight.

  “Don’t do it, Brenna.”

  She dropped her hand, forcing her anger to abate. “You’re drunk and in no way fit for civil conversation, Colin. I’m going to bed.” She turned on her heel, headed for the door, but he reached for her waist and spun her around to face him.

  “Why did you pull away from me earlier, Brenna? Am I so very repulsive to you? So unappealing that you can’t bear my touch? My kiss?”

  “I...It didna seem right, is all. Ye were hurting; ye were out of your mind with grief.”

  “That’s it?” His eyes scanned her face, and then he shook his head. “No, I don’t believe you. You think Lucy is my mistress, don’t you?”

  “I’ve no idea what to think.” Her heart was racing, making her feel at once dizzy and queasy. “Ye yourself admitted ye were in love with her.”

  “I didn’t say I was in love with her. I said I loved her. There’s quite a difference there. I was going to tell you the truth, just before Jane barged in.”

  “Tell me now, then,” she commanded, “and be done with it.”

  “Very well. Lucy is my sister, my father’s illegitimate daughter. Lucy’s conception was the result of my father’s affair with his wife’s dearest friend.”

  Lady Mandeville was his sister? Dear Lord, of course. Now it all made sense. Perfect sense. Their easy camaraderie, his protectiveness toward her. However had she been so blind?

  “All the anger I’ve held in,” he continued, his voice rising, “the displeasure I’ve known since I found out the truth, just came spilling forth the night he died. There I was, railing at my father about something he did more than twenty years past as if it had happened yesterday, as if I myself were more moral, more ethical than he.”

  “But...but why? What brought it up now?”

  “He was being flippant about our marriage. Congratulating me for snaring a woman with such a large dowry and saying how the bonds of matrimony don’t restrict a man’s appetite for—” He broke off abruptly.

  Brenna only stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “What’s more, Jane does not know about Lucy. Nor does Susanna or my mother.”

  “I assume Lucy knows?”“You assume correctly. I had no choice but to tell her two years past. It would seem Lord Mandeville jumped to the same conclusion as you did.”

  “Well, of course he did. ‘Twould not surprise me if a number of the ton think the same.”

  “Really?” he asked, his eyes wide with surprise. “I confess, I never really considered—”

  “Ye should have considered it, and ye might have told me earlier, besides. ‘Twould have spared quite a bit of suspicion on my part.”

  “I told you, quite plainly I might add, that there was nothing but friendship between Lucy and me. Have I ever given you any reason to doubt my word?”

  “Nay, but—”

  “No, and yet this isn’t the first time you’ve doubted me.”

  Remorse washed over her as she realized the truth of his statement. Never had he given her any reason to doubt him. He’d always spoken the truth, as frankly as possible, from the moment they’d first met. Yet doubt him she had, on more than one occasion.

  His gaze met hers, forcing her to acknowledge his sincerity. “As I stand before you, Brenna Rosemoor, I vow I will never break my word to you. Never. I cannot say it any plainer than that. I want you to believe in me, when no one else will.” His voice broke. “Is that really so much to ask?”

  At once Brenna saw his bravado fade. She recognized the vulnerability in his countenance, the pain that shadowed his eyes. She knew she should be angry; he’d stayed out all night, drinking and gambling, his losses no doubt funded by her dowry. She had every right to be furious.

  But she wasn’t angry. Raw, painful emotions flooded her consciousness, but anger was the least of them. She had failed him. Rather than continue with recriminations, she reached for the hem of her night rail instead. Surprising herself as she did so, she pulled the garment up and over her head, depositing it on the floor at Colin’s feet in a puddle of shimmering silk. Boldly, she raised her gaze to meet his. Utter shock and surprise played across his features. Then
desire. Raw, primal desire. Brenna shuddered in anticipation, her own desire matching his.

  Chapter 20

  Colin stood entirely mesmerized, rendered mute by the sight of Brenna standing there before him, completely and gloriously bare. All rational thought fled him as he allowed his gaze to leisurely glide across her body, taking in every delicious inch of her.

  At last, he found his voice. “You really are exquisite,” he stated simply, his voice thick with desire.

  She blinked rapidly but said not a word. Instead, she reached for his trousers, fumbling with the fastenings. Colin groaned as he felt her hand reach for his shaft, which was growing painfully swollen as the realization of what was happening sunk in. However did she know ... With a sharp hiss, his thought trailed off. God help him, if he let her continue to stroke him, this encounter would end abruptly before it even began.

  Perhaps a bit too roughly, he pulled her into his embrace. Together they stumbled back to the bed, their mouths finding and devouring each other’s like two starving souls. His fingers tangling in her hair, he cried out her name against her lips, the delicious feel of skin against skin near to overwhelming his senses as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her warm, welcome mouth. Still clutched together, they rolled over and over again until they tumbled to the floor in unison.

  Without even the slightest pause, their kiss resumed, more ardent than ever, their tongues touching then retreating, exploring, tasting. Colin nipped at her lower lip, moving his mouth to her throat as her nails skated down his back, to his backside. As she cupped his buttocks, his tongue found the spot where her pulse beat wildly, fluttering against her skin like butterfly wings.

  Reaching down between their bodies, his fingers traced the inside curve of her silky thigh. Slowly, tantalizingly, his fingers inched toward the apex of her thighs, searching for the place where their bodies might join. At last he found his prize. His heart leapt, skipping a beat in anticipation. She was damp with desire, ready for him. As he stroked her, she cried out. Yet she did not clamp her thighs together in denial. Instead she opened them to him, allowing him access.