Emerald Garden (43 page)

Quentin was beyond words, beyond thought, beyond anything. The roaring in his head was deafening, the wildness in his loins unendurable, dwarfed only by the love in his heart.

“Brandi … now … come with me … Christ.” Broken fragments, pleas and prayers, erupted a heartbeat before his seed, but Quentin never heard himself utter them.

Brandi did.

Arching up to meet him, she threw herself into the fire, screaming as Quentin stroked her inside and out, propelling her over the edge and into the blistering essence of completion.

Quentin met each contraction with a burst of wet heat, pouring himself into his wife again and again until he was drained, his hips still moving convulsively even as he collapsed on her shivering body.

How much time elapsed, he hadn’t a clue. Gradually, he became aware of Brandi’s fingers drifting, feather-light, over the muscles of his back, now blissfully relaxed.

“Is the pain gone?” she whispered, worry in her voice.

Once again, Brandi accomplished the impossible—Quentin’s shoulders began to shake with laughter.

“Oh, Sunbeam, you are truly the greatest miracle of my life.” He rolled to one side, taking her with him, enfolding her in his arms and reveling in the glorious feeling of being joined with her still.

“I didn’t hurt you?” Brandi repeated anxiously.

“Only in the most spectacular of ways.”

“I’m glad.” She leaned back, inclining her head quizzically. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because I’m happy.” He kissed the worried pucker from between her brows. “Because I’m the luckiest man alive. Because you’re my wife. Because I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I don’t intend to question my extraordinary good fortune.”

“Oh.” Brandi digested that explanation. “Then I pleased you?”

“Pleased me?” Quentin framed her face between his palms. “Sweetheart, you humbled me.”

“More than all those other women?”

Had he expected anything less? “Brandi,” he replied solemnly, gazing deeply into her eyes, “Tonight was as much my first time as it was yours. Perhaps more so, now that I reflect on it. Trust me, Sunbeam. There were no other women. Only you.”

Her smile warmed him, body and soul. “Now I really am your wife.”

“In every way.” He tucked her head beneath his chin, cradling her close, unwilling to relinquish the spectacular aftermath of their lovemaking.

Abruptly, the actuality of who had hurt whom struck home.

“Love,” he began, praying his urgency hadn’t made her pain more severe. “I meant to be gentle. I was anything but. Are you very sore?”

“Not very, no.”

“Can you forgive me?”

He felt her smile against his chest. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On the reason why you weren’t gentle.”

Quentin relaxed into a grin, knowing precisely where this was leading. “I wasn’t gentle, my smug little hoyden, because I lost every damned drop of control I possess. Happy?”

“Infinitely.” Brandi nuzzled the damp column of his throat. “Will it hurt me next time?”

“No, Sunbeam. Never again.”

“Prove it.”

Quentin’s head snapped down, and he stared at her in amazement. “What?”

“I asked you to prove it.” Brandi’s cheeks glowed as she shifted her hips—very intentionally—forward, enveloping him in her wet warmth, feeling his body leap to life. “I’m challenging you, my lord. In a way that, I’m stunned to discover, I find more exciting than fishing or riding.”

“And marksmanship?” Quentin’s hands slid down to grip her bottom, his touch wildly seductive. “Do you find this even more exciting than our shooting matches?” With tantalizing finesse, he urged her leg over his, hauling her against him with one fierce motion that melded their loins, elicited a sharp cry of pleasure from his bride. “Does that mean yes?” he asked, moving inside her in a way that made her moan his name. “Tell me, Sunbeam.” He dragged her lips to his, penetrating her mouth at the same time that he penetrated her body.

“Quentin …” Brandi’s eyes widened as she realized how close she was to climax.

“Let it happen,” he commanded, feeling her tighten all around him, her inner muscles clutching him in what had to be the most exquisite torture he’d ever known. “Brandi.” A harsh shudder. “I want to watch you.” With one more deliberate thrust, he took her over the edge, battling his own completion in a primal need to know hers.

It was a fight not destined to be won.

With a groan of surrender, Quentin gave in to his own body’s demands, exploding inside his wife with a force that defied the magnitude of his first climax, still simmering through his veins.

A radiant silence prevailed, broken only by the ticking of the clock and the harshness of their breathing.

At last Brandi stirred.

“I concede, my lord,” she murmured, propping her chin on his chest. “You won that contest. However, I do demand another chance to best you.”

Quentin threaded his fingers through her hair, regarding her from beneath hooded lids. “I never thought I’d hear you concede defeat. However, in all fairness, Mrs. Steel, I believe this victory belonged to us both. Still, I’d be delighted to offer you a second or even a third chance. When would you like to have it?”

“I’m not unreasonable, my lord. I’ll wait until you’ve recovered.” With an impish grin, Brandi rubbed her thigh across her husband’s. “Despite my inexperience, I fully understand that you need to recoup your strength in order to excel in this particular competition. Therefore, I’m …”

Her placating words dissolved into laughter, and then into silence, as Quentin rolled her to her back and covered her mouth with his.

Chapter 19

“I
’M AFRAID THOSE BREECHES
I bought you are going to be wasted,” Quentin murmured, marveling at the burnished glow of early morning sunlight as it played on Brandi’s hair. He sifted the silky strands through his fingers, letting them fall as they were, draped across his chest like a fiery waterfall.

“Why?” was the sleepy response. “I adore my new breeches. I plan to wear them whenever possible.”

“Precisely. Which, given the amount of time I plan on keeping you in bed, is next to never.”

Brandi smiled, rubbing her face over Quentin’s taut abdomen like a contented kitten. “Whatever made me think I wanted breeches?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

Stretching, his bride blinked at the widening slivers of light peeking through the curtains. “Is it day?”

“Nearly.”

“Must we get up?”

“Eventually. But only to collect the food Mrs. Collins left us to ward off starvation.”

“Starvation? Impossible. Not when I feel so utterly sated.” Brandi lifted her head, gazing at Quentin with loving fulfillment. “Thank you for the most wonderful night of my life.”

“ ’Tis I who should be thanking you. And not only for the miracle of last night. But for so much more.” Seeing the questioning pucker between his wife’s brows, Quentin added softly, “You’ve made me whole in ways I never knew I was empty, perceived what I needed even when I didn’t. You’ve given me joy and laughter and love. You’ve given me you.”

Brandi’s eyes misted. “I love you so much. I always have, even before I realized it.”

A corner of Quentin’s mouth lifted. “I think we were the last two to grasp the truth. Bentley, Mrs. Collins, Herbert—they were all lying in wait for us to behold the obvious.”

“Don’t forget Pamela.”

“My mother?” It was Quentin’s turn to look surprised.

“Yes. Had I listened to what she was saying more carefully, I would have understood.” A wistful smile touched Brandi’s lips. “She was trying to tell me you were my future.”

“What did she say?”

“Ironically, it was during our last long talk. We were here, working in the garden and discussing my maturity—or lack thereof. Pamela listened to me ramble on about what I yearned for in an ideal husband.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “Which was?”

“A passionate man who relished a challenge and, rather than trying to squelch my unconventional behavior, reveled in it.”

“I see.” Quentin traced the smooth skin of his bride’s back. “And what did Mother say?”

“She told me that the man of whom I dreamed did exist, that he was rare and special, and that soon—very soon—we would discover each other. Not
meet,”
Brandi stressed, “but discover. On the heels of that statement, she casually brought you into the conversation. I should have fathomed her meaning.”

“Subtlety is not your forte, Sunbeam. Not employing it or distinguishing it.”

Brandi gave a rueful sigh. “No, it isn’t. And, in this case, it took me that much longer to distinguish because I haven’t allowed myself to think about Pamela. It just hurt too much.” A pause. “I miss her terribly.”

“I know you do.”

“My only consolation is knowing she’s with Kenton.” Brandi blinked, as another memory sparked to life. “That’s something else she said during that last talk of ours. Something I’d forgotten until now. She said Kenton was her heart and soul. That, without him, she wouldn’t want to live. I truly believe she meant that.”

“As do I. My parents were like two halves of a whole, each incomplete without the other. Thank God they’re together. In that way, at least, they’re at peace.”

Brandt’s lashes swept her cheeks. “Perhaps this sounds foolish, but I believe our union grants them peace as well. I was recalling the clause in Pamela’s will that was addressed to me. It ended with, ‘in my heart I know you will never be alone.’ I think she was giving us her blessing.”

“That doesn’t sound foolish,” Quentin countered. “In fact, it makes a world of sense. Mother was bequeathing you her insight—something far more valuable than her jewel case.”

Abruptly, Brandi’s eyes widened. “The jewel case!” Climbing out of bed, she dashed, naked, to her dressing table, and groped behind the strongbox until she retrieved the key and unfastened the lid.

Taken aback by his bride’s rapid flight, Quentin pushed himself to a sitting position. “The view is breathtaking,” he teased. “But I am a bit perplexed. Why, after twenty years, have you suddenly acquired an affinity for gems?”

Brandi tossed him an exasperated look as she trotted back to the bed. “I haven’t. I went to get these.” She held out the mysterious items she’d unearthed just prior to the wedding ceremony.

Sobering, Quentin leaned over to turn up the lamp. “A key and an envelope.”

“An envelope with your name on it and a key that was hidden beneath it,” Brandi corrected.

“Hidden?” Quentin’s glance darted to the dressing table. “In Mother’s jewel case?”

“Yes. Yesterday was the first time I could bring myself to open it. But I so wanted to wear something of Pamela’s the day I became your wife. For you, and for her. When I opened the case and lined out the necklace I wanted, I found these. I don’t understand the significance of the key, but the letter is obviously from your mother to you.” Brandi’s voice grew soft. “I thought perhaps whatever message she left might bring you a measure of peace.”

Quentin frowned as he studied his name on the envelope. “This is written in my father’s, not my mother’s, hand.”

“Your father’s?” Brandi blinked. “I don’t understand. Why would a letter from Kenton be concealed in Pamela’s jewel case?”

“I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”

Tearing open the envelope, Quentin extracted two separately folded sheets. He smoothed out the first, noted that it was addressed to his father, and scanned the two lines written on it. “Christ.”

“Quentin?” A frisson of fear quivered up Brandi’s spine at the uncommon severity of his reaction. “What is it?”

“A warning. For Father, not from him. It says, ‘You’re meddling where you don’t belong. Should you continue, you’ll die and Desmond will pay the price.’ ”

“Oh my God.” All the color drained from Brandi’s face. “Someone threatened Kenton’s life.”

“Not only threatened it, Brandi. Took it.”

Quentin’s supposition pervaded the room like a sickly poison.

“This changes everything.” Quentin’s tone was hoarse, his throat working convulsively. “We’ve been assuming Ardsley was the murderer’s target. This note suggests it was Father.” A painful pause. “You know how principled my father was. If he suspected someone of illegal or immoral doings, he would never have let the matter rest, threatening note or not. He’d pursue it until he discovered the truth. But what if the truth implicated the killer? That bastard would be forced to carry out his threat and silence Father.”

Staring at the message, Brandi fought to think clearly. “The way this reads, Desmond is also the object of the threat. Which suggests he is somehow connected to whatever Kenton was investigating.”

“Or the cause of it,” Quentin proposed bitterly. “Remember, Desmond was presumably immersed in all Father’s business dealings and is now privy to every aspect of Father’s estate. Bearing that in mind, wouldn’t he be aware if Father were engaged in a dangerous investigation?”

Brandi nodded. “One would think so, yes.”

“Then why hasn’t Desmond said a word, particularly since Bow Street confirmed the carriage accident as murder?”

“Oh, Quentin, we’ve exhausted, then dismissed, the idea that Desmond would physically harm Kenton.”

“I know that. And, for whatever it’s worth, Desmond didn’t pen this note. The hand is not his. Consequently, unless he paid someone else to write and send it, the message originated from another source. Nevertheless, my instincts tell me my brother is somehow linked to all this—and I don’t mean by mere chance.”

Brandi rubbed the bedcovers between her fingers. “Clearly, Kenton knew he was in danger. He must have slipped that threatening missive into Pamela’s jewel case as a precaution, so that, if anything happened to him, she would find it. Or perchance he gave it to her openly and asked her to hide it somewhere for safekeeping.” Abruptly, Brandi indicated the other note. “Maybe the second message will clarify some of our questions. What does it say?”

Quentin’s head snapped down, and he unfolded the second sheet. “This one is written in Father’s hand,” he apprised his wife, shifting so she could see over his shoulder.