If Love Were Enough (8 page)

Brandon entered the dining room with one immediate purpose. He wanted to see Priscilla and talk with her.

He had been exhausted physically and emotionally, when he left her room early that morning.

And, he had been confused.

He had never met a woman like Priscilla. And he had met many women in his two and thirty years. Having spent a great deal of time in London, having title, means and appearance, he had never been left wanting for feminine companionship.

Priscilla was not like any other female.

True, she was attractive and well-spoken, but she had an inner strength he had seen in very few others, men or women.

Why she made love to him last night, in such an unusual and restricted way, was a mystery to him.

The dining room was not to be their meeting place. There were a number of guests present, but not Priscilla.

Not having eaten since the prior evening, Brandon served himself from the chafing dishes then settled at the table. He counted himself fortunate that his host, Asher, and especially his hostess, Anne, were not in attendance.

He had no idea how he would rid himself of Anne were she to come across him.

Nor did he want to find out.

Keeping to himself and avoiding the eyes and attentions of everyone in the room, he wished for solitude. He had no interest in polite conversation.

His wish was denied.

“Well, Brandon, old chap, what say you this fine morning?” Brandon’s fork paused over his plate. Of all people with which he could be cursed. Dimsford.

Brandon watched while the lord loaded a plate with more food than he thought it humanly possible to consume. But then Dimsford had quite a girth to support. When the plate needed two hands to hold it steady, he trundled around the table to sit across from him.

“Dimsford,” Brandon nodded then went back to his meal.

“‘Tis a fine morning, is it not? And just where have you been keeping yourself? Holed up with Asher’s sister no doubt.” Food was stuffed into Dimsford’s mouth while he talked with little regard to how repugnant it might have looked.

Brandon could not bear to watch the man eat and cared even less to engage him in conversation.

“Yes, yes, I guess you are the lucky one to console the grieving widow. I would do it myself if she would let me.” He paused momentarily, burped, took the napkin tucked in at his neck protecting his protuberant belly and wiped his mouth. “They say widows are quite randy, you know. Once they’ve had it they can’t live without it, and all that. What say you? Have you had a
hard
time satisfying the wench?” The dolt had the audacity to chuckle.

Disgusted, Brandon stood and threw his own napkin down upon his plate. With a stern eye at his companion he said, “Dimsford, Lady Rutherford is far from in heat. She is grieving in the truest sense of the word. She has no desire for you, no less me, to be sniffing around her skirts and making rude and false comments about her sexual proclivities. If I hear such derisive comments come from your mouth again, or if I see you sidling up to her in hopes of sexual gratification, I will call you out. I will be most gratified when I put a bullet right between those beady little eyes of yours.”

Noticing Dimsford was about to choke on his meal, Brandon stalked out hoping the lecher would be dead when he returned later in the afternoon.

As he left, he chastised himself for the exact desires he deplored in Dimsford, while he resumed the search for the object of his interest and desire.

He had already knocked on her door, but there was no answer. With the latch unlocked, he had entered to verify the room was uninhabited and found only a tidy, empty space. He searched the drawing room and the other public areas asking the staff he met along his route if they had seen Lady Rutherford. His search and his inquiries were fruitless.

He headed for the maze and the bench therein, where they had spent quite a bit of time talking the afternoon before. But this brought him upon a couple, Baroness Haddon and Lord Blackston, in dishabille giggling and trysting with no regard as to who may discover them or what might be seen.

He left repulsed. Could these people not have some discretion?

He walked through the numerous gardens and inquired of the gardeners toiling in the fecund soil. None had seen her.

Finally, he headed toward the stables. He was about to enter the open doorway when he heard the sounds of an approaching horse. He turned to see Priscilla cantering up on a spirited white mare, her dark green riding habit a strong contrast to the horse’s pale hide. When she rode nearer, he could see her face flushed from her exertions, her green satin hat askew flattering her eyes, tendrils of hair, having escaped from her chignon, framing her face.

Memories of her passion and climax the prior evening invaded his thoughts, arousing his loins, causing his mind to think of all manner of dalliances. Would that he could have her ride him in such a manner.

She pulled up the mare before him as a stable boy ran out to grab at the reins.

Brandon took the two strides necessary to bring him up beside the horse. “My lady, I have been searching for you. Did you have a pleasant ride?”

Priscilla looked down on him, the smile she was sporting moments before turning to a small frown. Her eyes lost some of their light, a small crease formed between her brows.

Making no move to dismount Priscilla responded, “Yes, my lord. The weather is fine and I had not ridden out on these lands for five years. It was good to see my family’s estate in such good repair.”

“Let me help you down, Lady Rutherford.” Brandon reached up but was stymied when she pulled back, the green satin of her gown rustling, her horse shuffling.

Preferring not to make a scene while the stable boy stood by holding the bridle, Brandon decided it would be best to give Priscilla another option.

“Would you prefer a step?” It was as if he could see her thought processes flit across her face. He had promised not to touch her. He had kept his promise. She needed to dismount. The boy was there to get the steps, but so was Brandon who was more than able to hand her down. He feared the outcome would not be good, when she surprised him by leaning toward him with arms outstretched.

Stifling a sigh of relief, Brandon placed his hands around her slim waist, felt her hands upon his shoulders, and lifted her from the saddle.

The groom led the mare away while Brandon pulled her body against his and slid her down the front of him.

Her gasp was audible. He expected it had much to do with the erection pressed against her stomach, before her feet touched the ground.

She looked up at him, her face a flush of bright color, her green eyes wide.

Knowing discretion was his best weapon, Brandon did what he least wanted to do. He stepped back, released her waist and dropped a small bow.

“We have need of some discussions, Priscilla.”

She averted her gaze.

Not to be put off, Brandon tilted her face up to his again with the tip of his index finger, then dropped his hand, still afraid he might scare her off.

“I think we best leave things between us alone, Lord Brookfield.”

His gaze held hers. “I think not, Lady Rutherford. Much has happened. But there is more to come. We need to sort it—us—out.”

“There should not be more between us. Last night was a mistake. I should have sent you away when you entered my chamber. I am under duress and succumbed to a momentary weakness. It was nothing more than that.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she remained strong, her back poker straight, her chin canted up. Evidently, she was not going to let her vulnerability show without a fight.

“I know better, Priscilla. I saw, felt your response. I do not understand all of it. Yet. But we shall talk, the two of us alone, and you will enlighten me.” He took her elbow gingerly in his hand, pleased that she didn’t flinched from his touch, then turned her toward the gardens. “There must be a secluded spot where we will not be interrupted. You lived here most of your life, where would you suggest?”

“There is a summer house, a gazebo really, tucked into a grove of willow trees by the river. I doubt any of the other guests know it exists.”

In silence, the two of them headed to the shelter. Brandon sifted through his thoughts, trying to decide what to say to her, and how. She had erected some barrier to protect herself. In many ways that was logical considering her recent loss and the present circumstances. A house party thrown for the sexual gratification of the attendees was no place to nurture trust. But she'd reacted to him, responded to him, was aroused by his nearness. And he wanted to pursue their relationship because of that, if nothing else.

The structure was in sight. His ruminations were broken by the sound of intimate voices coming from within. Brandon squeezed Priscilla’s arm and drew her to a stop next to him. He leaned to comment in her ear. “I think, my lady, someone else knows of your secret place.”

“Come on, Sally. You’ve been teasing me for two days. Get on with it. Uncover those luscious breasts and let my mouth have at them.”

“Asher, you have no patience whatsoever. Can you not tell when a woman is trying to create desire subtly?”

Priscilla, her face flushed with embarrassment, turned to Brandon and was about to make a comment when he placed his index finger over her lips to silence her. He tugged her toward an alternate path but the conversation in the gazebo continued.

“Married to Anne? There’s no subtle about it.” Sounds of rustling movement came to them on the breeze followed by a groan deep enough to be Asher’s. “There they are! They are a pair of beauties. Just look how excited they are to get my attentions. Does Dimsford not regard them at all?”

“To him the grass is always greener. He can have mine whenever he wants, so he prefers to go elsewhere whenever possible. You saw how he took after your sister. Did he care she was related and recently widowed? Up her skirts was all he wanted.”

The sound of rustling silk continued.

“Asher, you . . . should not . . . be . . . touching me there–Ooooh . . .”

“Wait, wait! Let me get my britches down. Don’t tell me you can wait, love. You’re so fucking wet you’re practically a fountain.”

Priscilla grabbed Brandon’s hand and tugged frantically to expedite their progress down the path, “Brandon, we are being rude. Hurry.” They quickened their pace but the conversation still enveloped them.

“What if Anne finds out? I am her best friend you know.”

“She’s too busy chasing Brookfield. Aaaah
.
There you are. Push–oh my God! She told me she sucked him off by the lake the first night and then he just walked away. Faster. Faster-”

Brandon felt his own face redden when Priscilla pulled up short and looked up, eyes wide with astonishment.

“He doesn’t seem to be interested in her from what I can tell. Harder, Asher. Faster. Harder . . .”

The moans and groans increased in intensity while Priscilla and Brandon stood staring at each other.

“Anne doesn’t give a shit.” Grunt. “She’ll track him down until she gets what she wants from him. Then she’ll walk away self-satisfied. Once he fucks her, she’ll be done with him like all the others. Come on, Sally, you’re close now I can feel it. Let me suck on your tits. That’ll push you over.”

In moments, the screaming, moaning and grunting came to a head as the trysting couple met completion.

Priscilla still held Brandon’s hand, but dropped it now while she stood in stunned silence, the sounds and voices of Asher and Sally fading in the background.

Sally let out a relieved sigh. “Doesn’t it bother you, Asher, that she’ll give herself to just about any man who will have her?”

“It did at first, but she always comes back to me. She’s so oversexed I never feel deprived. And, she’ll do anything I want. Anything! That’s a hard trait to find in a woman.”

“Tell me, Asher. Tell me some of the things she’ll do.”

Asher’s voice lowered so that neither Priscilla nor Brandon could understand what he was saying but Sally’s comments reflected his testimonial.

“No! No lady would do that. Asher, you didn’t make her do that, did you?”

“It was her idea. She loved it.”

Enough was enough. Brandon took hold of Priscilla’s elbow and turned them back down the path.

What should he, could he, say now?

Once they were headed away from the gazebo, Brandon followed Priscilla down a path along the river with hurried steps. The grove of willows continued for a while then stopped near a foot bridge. Under the last tree, Brandon tugged on Priscilla’s elbow for her to stop.

“It looks quiet enough here, Priscilla. We’ll stop here to talk.” He shed his jacket and laid it, lining side down, on the grass. Lord knows Simpson, his valet, would have his head should he stain his clothes with grass. He had yet to recover from the tear Brandon had put in his trousers climbing the trellis a few nights ago. But he would rather extend courtesies to his lover and damn the worries of a servant, no matter how efficient the man was.

Brandon bowed and swept a hand before her. “My lady.”

Priscilla hesitated then, with a slight nod, sat on his jacket taking a moment to arrange her skirts while Brandon settled next to her. When she was finished, she did not look at him but through the draping boughs of leaves out over the river. She let go a heavy sigh. She was, obviously, less than pleased.

“A guinea for your thoughts.” Brandon leaned back on both palms, long legs stretched before him, to settle in for what promised to be a very uncomfortable discussion.

“I doubt they are worth more than a half-penny. And they have no order to them.”

Brandon leaned toward her, one hand lifted, to tilt her face in his direction then let her go. “Order is irrelevant, but they are all important. What shall we discuss first?”

With her soft green eyes on his, she took hold of the pendant at her throat, sighed again then asked, “Was it true what they said about Anne the first night we were here?”

Brandon swallowed hard and gathered his thoughts, planned his response. “No. There is much more to it, of course, than they know. I told you I was at your window that night and watched you. I was more than heated when I left your balcony.” It was his turn to look out over the waters’ edge, his face hot with his embarrassment. “To cool myself off I stripped to nothing and swam in the lake. The strategy worked for the most part but when I came out of the water I found my trousers gone. Anne came from behind a tree holding them.

“How well do you know your sister-in-law? Do you know she can be most forceful when she has her mind set?”

Priscilla’s voice was soft when she spoke, “I know her well enough to know you are correct. Anne can be very focused when she has decided upon a purpose.”

His eyes came back to her. “Well, it seems I am her current purpose through no desire, nor intent of my own. She would not leave her hands off me and when I gathered both of them up so that she could not handle my more private parts she dropped to her knees and used her mouth.”

Brandon felt his skin flush from his chest to his ears. He never realized how difficult it would be to discuss matters such as these. There had never been a need.

“Since I had already been aroused by my unexpected, surreptitious voyeur activities of you, it was almost beyond my control to refrain from responding to her flagrant fondling. But I did manage to push her away. I picked up my clothing and left her standing at the lake. She called after me saying she expected I would succumb to her charms, eventually.”

“Did you not enjoy her ministrations, my lord?” Priscilla’s voice was cool, aloof. “I would expect she is very practiced and knows how to please a man, particularly one she desires.”

Brandon caught her gaze again before answering. “Eventually one should learn, Priscilla, that pure physical gratification is somewhat lacking when compared to relationships that meet on other planes as well. I fear Lady Anne has not yet discovered this fact. Or, it may be, she has no desire to discern the difference.”

Priscilla looked down, released her pendant, pulled a blade of grass from its home then rolled it between her fingers with intense study. “I am afraid, Brandon, I have no more to bring to such an interlude than my sister-in-law.”

Brandon reached to stop the motion of her fingers, pleased when her gaze came back up to meet his. “Would you accost a man who did not want you, Priscilla? Would you have an affair with someone you did not have feelings for, you were not drawn to? I think not. You are not the kind of woman to tease and lead on. No, I think you may have limited experience in some ways, but I doubt you are so callous or cavalier you would act like Anne does. So tell me, now. It’s your turn. Why do you make me promise not to touch you? Why will you not let our affair become one of true consummation?”

Priscilla turned her face away and her skin blushed, a delicate shade of rose pink. Brandon schooled his thoughts and body as best he could and waited for her tale.

“I am most embarrassed to tell anyone, no less you, an experienced rake.”

“I make no judgments, Priscilla. I believe we are becoming friends. I would be lying though, if I did not admit to wanting more between us. I have shared my embarrassment. Yours cannot be worse than mine.”

“Oh, but it is.” Her eyes returned to his, filled with tears she fought to restrain.

He squeezed her hand, still cautious about touching her, he released it to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers,

“I was a failure as a wife,” Priscilla blurted out. “Yes, I could run Robert’s household. I managed the staff, even the interactions with his overseers, when he became more frail. But I never gave him the child he wanted, needed so very much.”

A solitary tear tracked down her flushed cheek. “No matter what he taught me, or what we learned from his book, or what I suggested and tried, he never became aroused. We never consummated our marriage.”

As though shamed, Priscilla turned her face away. “How can I,” she went on, her voice cracking, tears now streaming down her cheeks, “give to another what I failed to give to the one person I owed all to? He was my husband. He was kind to me, generous to a fault, I grew to love him, but love was not enough. I returned all he shared with nothing.”

Brandon’s head swam with all the revelations Priscilla showered upon him. She was still a virgin, after ten years of marriage? Her husband had been impotent, thus she had never carried the heir desired? Her attentions to Brandon must have been what Robert had taught her, yet she had never felt, before last night with him, the true response a healthy, virile man would have to such seduction.

What must she be thinking of their shared experience? His lack of self-control? His overwhelming need? Did she even comprehend the power she was developing over him?

In his own desperation to console her grief, Brandon drew Priscilla into his arms, onto his lap. With a gentle hand, he laid her head against his shoulder and rocked her like he would a distressed child.

“There, there, my love. It will be all right. It was not your fault. Robert knew it was not your fault. If he blamed you, he never would have been so kind or generous. Hush, Priscilla. Let me hold you for now. Everything will be all right. I promise you it will.”

He held her while she sobbed in his arms, her tears dampening his linen. Had she gone all this time without feeling, sharing her grief? Would someone, possibly she, grieve for him so thoroughly upon his death? Would she feel so tenderly for him at all? She had loved her husband, but was not in love with him.

Could he claim such loyalty, such love, for his own?