If Love Were Enough (6 page)

Brandon leaned back against the wisteria trellis, the shadows of night masking his presence. Before he ascended once again, he wanted to make sure no one was present to perceive him.

The night was cool, the sky clear and starry. The moon, yet to rise, would not be quite full when it appeared.

After assuring himself all was quiet and safe, Brandon clambered up the trellis and vine and inhaled the sweet scents of the pendulous lavender and white flowers. He climbed over the rail, then paused at the French doors. This evening they were closed tight, but a light glowed from within. He could discern the voluptuous outline of his quest brushing the length of her hair in front of the dressing table mirror.

He decided not to hesitate further. He had no wish to replay the prior night when he was a voyeur rather than a participant.

Would she welcome him? While they were talking in the maze that afternoon, could he have mistaken the increase of her scent as her arousal? How she shuddered whenever he touched her hand or arm in the lightest fashion?

His hands ungloved, he tapped a knuckle firmly against a pane then watched her cease brushing as if to listen.

He tapped again.

Priscilla jumped from her seat.

Who could be knocking on her window? She swung around with wide eyes and a thumping heart to see who would dare to threaten her sanctuary.

In the pale candlelight she could just make out the face beyond the glass.

Lord Brookfield. Brandon.

Priscilla swallowed hard but did not lay down her brush. How could he have known he was invading her thoughts? She tried to give no clue. She remained aloof despite her urgent need to seduce him. She had left the drawing room to the other women and retired to her rooms. She was not prepared for this meeting.

When would she ever be?

It was as if her thoughts manifested his presence before her.

What should she do?

He turned the handle on the doors.

She had failed to lock them.

She was out on the balcony earlier to enjoy the cool night air and the scent of the flourishing flowers. But she had no thought she would need to latch an entry two stories above the gardens.

Silently, the doors swung open, admitting him into the room along with a chill draft of air.

The hairs on the nape of her neck rose. The shiver that seemed to be forever present when he was in her vicinity thrilled her spine again.

Her eyes met his green gaze. There was no mistaking the heat in them. She had seen that look travel between many of the men when they watched Anne and the other women over the last few days. It was intense. It was seductive. It was hungry.

What was she to do now?

“Lady Rutherford, I beg your company.”

“My lord, I fear you have done so in a most inappropriate manner.” She fought to keep her voice steady, aloof. She leaned back against the dressing table, the brush tight in one hand, the edge of the furniture grasped in the other.

“I knew you would not answer your chamber door if I knocked on it.” Brandon pressed the French door closed behind him. She heard the snick of the lock. He took a firm step into the room.

He was in her room.

There was no place for her to go. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“How so, my lord?”

“I stationed myself in an alcove last night and watched the others make plays for your attention. You did not even answer the door to see who called. I expected tonight would be the same.”

“I had no interest in their attentions.”

“So I saw for myself. But I was determined to meet you. You piqued my curiosity, so I approached from another manner.” He took another step into the room.

“This afternoon in the maze. This evening at dinner?” she asked.

“Last night, Lady Rutherford. On this same balcony.”

Priscilla felt her face pale, her body stiffen, her breath wane.

He was on her balcony last night?

“I beg pardon, my lord. I fear I misconstrue.”

“I fear you do not, Priscilla. And I feel a full confession, for honesty’s sake, is due. As tonight, I came up to your balcony last night to introduce myself. I was about to knock on the glass like I did tonight but was stopped since you . . . How should I say this?” Brandon broke his gaze from her eyes, looked to the fire and ran a hand through his thick golden hair. “I was enthralled, madam, by the events that took place. Once they ended, I was too stunned to attempt an introduction.”

She was speechless when his gaze came back to hers. His green eyes lost none of their intensity. His body seemed larger than it had earlier in the day and the heat that spread through her was like a fire that would never burn out.

Brandon continued, “I wanted to speak with you further this evening but once again you fled. And, I want to . . .”

”Please, my lord, this is most inappropriate. I am a new widow.”

“Do you not think I am aware of that? Do you not think I have other things pressing on my mind as well with my father so near his own demise? And yet, here I am, drawn like a moth to a flame. After last night, watching you, wanting you. Every time I have been close to you my desires, my body, have been almost out of my control.

“And you. Have you not felt something? I have sensed the change in you. Your heat, your coloring, every time we have been together.”

Priscilla turned away, ashamed she was so transparent, her lack of
ton
training her downfall, her betrayal. “You cannot know how I feel, my lord. I am in mourning, my needs are not to be ascertained and acted upon so easily.”

But she did need his seed. Didn’t she? And, he was more than willing. Why was she hesitating?

“Would you lie to me, Lady Rutherford? Priscilla?”

“No, my lord.” Could she just use him for her own purposes and not tell him? “But I cannot be the lover you would wish me to be. I am not now, nor may I ever be, the woman that you would want in such a way. I have . . . limitations.” Priscilla released the table top to grasp her pendant in her hand. She worried the charm along its chain, fondled the faceted ruby and smooth surface of the pearl it held.

Dare she hope he could understand and want her anyway?

“And cannot I choose to live within those constraints, Priscilla?”

“I doubt any gentleman, no less a rake such as yourself, would be willing to limit his needs, his fulfillment, to the idiosyncrasies of a sheltered widow such as myself.”

Would he be appalled to discover she was a virgin? Would he keep that knowledge to himself? A true gentleman would.

She turned away from him. “It is best you leave, my lord, no matter what my desires might be.”

How could she resolve these conflicting needs? She wanted his seed. To be truthful, she wanted him. But her conscience, her virgin state, demanded her retreat, her refusal. Her hand, still at her throat, worried the lavalier back and forth along its chain. What should she do? What would Robert want her to do?

“Priscilla, might I not hear your terms and determine for myself if I can live within your bounds?” He stepped closer and reached for her.

She pulled away. She drew her hands behind her back. She would make it difficult for him. It would give her time to think. “You must not touch me, my lord. That would be the first rule. You could not lay your hands upon me.”

For the least of it, she must see if he could be patient and as gentle as Robert before she could submit. She was too afraid, for so many reasons, to just let go of all reserve or caution.

“But then how would I make love to you, madam?”

“You would not, my lord.” She turned back to him, looked up into his intense green eyes to discover the momentary surprise and confusion there. “It would be you who would watch. It would be I who would make love to you.”

Brandon struggled to keep his mouth from falling open. He could not touch her? She would make love to him? What folly was this? This woman of passion, whom he had watched the night before, would not let him pleasure her but would herself pleasure him?

“Madam,” Brandon ran his hand through his hair again, “I do not see how that would bring pleasure to you at all.”

“It would be my wish, my lord. It would be my rule. And it would be in place until I chose to change it. It would be your promise and you must choose to abide by it no matter what your physical or emotional urges might require.”

“And, if I should take this pledge and refrain from touching you, what should happen then?”

“Because I am lonely, my lord, I would do for you what I would do for my husband. I would pleasure myself in front of you. Then I would pleasure you. But after that, you must leave. And, never would you raise a hand to touch me, or set your lips to mine.”

Brandon turned to walk a distance from her. Now both hands were in his hair. What was this the widow asked of him? What kind of marriage had fate dealt her that she would not let someone touch and pleasure her? Could he restrain himself if he were to become even more aroused than he was at the window the prior evening? Could he hope she would change her mind when the two of them were in the throes of sexual ecstasy?

He turned back to her.

“I’ll take your bargain, my lady.”

“You will be disappointed, Lord Brookfield, if you think my demands will change in midstream. I promise you, they will not. And you will be bound to them or permanently break your trust with me.”

“I will not break my promise tonight no matter the pain or torment it will cause me. I wish to build our trust. Already there is something that grows between us. I refuse to forfeit the possibility of something more due to my lack of control. There must be a reason both of us have been thrown together when we are suffering such similar losses. I will take your vow and make it my own.”

Priscilla did not hide the astonishment on her face. Had she hoped to fend him off by such a demand? When would she decide it was safe to relent? “Sit, my lord, in the chair before the fire. Take off your jacket and waistcoat. Be comfortable. Give me a moment to compose myself. I was not prepared for a night such as this.”

Brandon shed his jacket and waistcoat and made himself comfortable in the velvet wing chair. His gaze lit upon the fire, its warmth and light hypnotizing him while his mind wandered through thoughts of what might happen next.

He had not long to wait.

Priscilla came to stand with her back to the fire, the rose silk robe cast in a deeper hue from the flames. She still held the brush in her hand and she drew it through the length of her hair over her shoulder. Down in strokes over her breast as her back was warmed by the flame. The brush traced the rise of her breast, the indentation of her waist then stopped just above her mons.

Again she stroked her tresses. And Brandon watched the course of the journey from beginning to end. He thought about the feel of that silky, shiny hair that he could not touch, its fire-reddened color and the heat it was gaining from the flames and the friction of the brush.

Priscilla turned toward the flames while she slid the silk robe down her arms until it nestled within the crook of her elbows then tossed her tresses over the nakedness of her back. With subtle gyrations she swayed the locks back and forth over her skin, the waves and curls caressing the indentations of her shoulder blades and the small of her back.

Brandon’s body was as hard as the marble surrounding the fire and as hot as the bricks within it, but he did not move nor speak.

Priscilla laid the brush upon the mantel then placed her hands at the nape of her neck. With a slow smooth movement, she slid her arms under her hair fanning it out in the glow of the firelight.

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to run his own hands through her hair, feel its softness. He wanted to slide his fingertips down her back to caress the silk of her skin. And he could see himself placing wet kisses every place his fingertips touched.

He wanted her.

He ached for her.

He remained still as death in his chair, his eyes and his breathing belying his tenuous control.

With barely a motion, Priscilla lowered her arms to let the rose colored silk slide down to puddle at her feet. She gathered her tresses into one hand and pulled them over her shoulder. It was then she turned back toward Brandon.

His breath was lost while the vision permeated his brain. Her face was soft, rosy from the fire’s heat, her eyes on his face. He let his gaze rest with hers for a few moments wondering what she was thinking, feeling, wanting, as she stood unprotected before him, a near perfect stranger.

Then he let his gaze travel . . . down her long neck, caressing the full, roundness of each breast, one nipple peeking out from beneath her chestnut-colored tresses. Her waist was trim before her hips flared out.

His gaze traveled down to her mons and the tight red-hued curls that nestled at the confluence of her thighs.

His sex throbbed with the need to touch her, take her, be part of her.

But he sat still, grasping the arms of the chair to keep his place. And his promise.

She raised her hands to cup her breasts, weighing each one then rolling the nipples between thumbs and forefingers.

His mouth dry, he licked his lips and fantasized about the taste of her pebbled nipples, but moved not.

After massaging and fondling for some time, driving him near to distraction, Priscilla smoothed her long, tapered fingers down her waist and stomach to thread them through the fur of her mons.

He watched her fingers as they curled the short hairs then stroked, first short motions down her legs, then longer movements that slid between her thighs.

He knew she was touching the pearl of her passion.

He raised his eyes to meet hers. Her gaze was still intent on him but her face grew even softer in the warm light. Her breathing, which had been slow and deep until her hands touched her inner core, was now shorter, more rapid.