Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (24 page)

Then he got a good look at the state she was in, and forgot all about whether or not she was glaring at him. His prim and proper, never-a-hair-out-of-place bride was a complete and utter mess.

Quite apart from her dishevelled hair, her cambric walking dress was torn and looked as if she had been lying face down in the mud. Her arms were scratched and filthy, and her hands—he blinked—she looked as though she had been digging with them. They were black, the nails, or what was left of them, encrusted with dirt. Fear lashed through him, all the worse for knowing it was too late for him to do a damn thing about whatever trouble she had landed herself in.

‘What the
hell
have you—?’

The whimper stopped him cold, and he saw the dog. Well, he supposed it was a dog. A half-grown pup, actually—but its ancestry beggared the imagination. Thin, scruffy, its filthy white coat splotched with brown, one drooping and one flyaway ear—for a moment Julian was speechless.

Then, ‘Where did
that
come from?’ he demanded.

‘He,’
said Christy, with what Julian considered undue emphasis, ‘is a dog. And
he
—’

‘Are you sure of that?’ asked Julian sarcastically. He should have known better.

Cheeks flaming under the grime, Christy said, ‘Perfectly sure. Even I know bitches don’t mark trees.’

Julian took that one on the chin. ‘Thank you,’ he said, suppressing the urge to throttle her. Or kiss her. ‘And what evidence can you present that this…
thing
…is indeed a dog?’ Seeing that she was silenced, he swept on, ‘And where did you find this dog? For want of a better term.’

‘In the woods,’ said Christy in oddly muted tones. ‘He…I…we were playing, with a stick, and chasing rabbits. At least, he was—’

‘And you
conveniently
forgot the time. You decided playing with a stray mongrel was more important than fulfilling your social obligations, so you stayed out late—worrying me half to death in the process!’ he finished savagely.

‘Worrying
you
?’

She sounded as though the idea struck her as ludicrous.

‘Of course I was worried! What did you imagine I’d think when you didn’t come home? But much you care! You were out disporting yourself with a dog who should have been shot for trespass!’

‘Stop yelling at me!’ said Christy furiously. ‘Can’t you…can’t you see he’s hurt? And you’re frightening him!’

Her voice shook, and to his horror a tear slid down her cheek, leaving a track in the dirt.

All his anger dissolved, leaving exposed the fear he had lived
with for hours. His stomach clenched again, painfully. And tightened further as another tear fell.

‘Just go away,’ she said in a very wobbly voice.

He stared down at her, half-turned away from him. How indeed should she have known that he would worry about her? How could she know that his conscience was like a raw wound with salt burning it? How could she know he had spent the day going over his dealings with her and finding himself completely at fault?

‘How is he hurt?’ he asked quietly.

There was an aching silence. Then, ‘His back leg,’ she whispered.

Julian crouched down, eliciting a growl from the frightened pup.

‘Gently, little fellow,’ he murmured, holding out a lightly clenched fist for the pup to sniff. It snapped, and then whined piteously. He kept talking in a lazy sing-song voice, uttering nonsense, knowing only the tone mattered.

Christy herself was caught, enthralled by the change in him. Dazed, she listened to the soothing voice.

‘You’re lucky she found you. What stupid mess did you get into? Hmm?’

The pup sniffed cautiously at the outstretched hand.

‘Yes, that’s better. I don’t really eat dogs—there. Yes, that’s a good spot, isn’t it, laddie? Softly, then.’

The lean, powerful hand scratched gently behind the pup’s ears. Christy gulped, recallng the effect those caressing fingers had on her.

‘Now, let’s see…ah, so there’s the problem. How did you do it, you silly creature?’

‘What has he done?’ asked Christy softly.

‘Dislocated the hip,’ replied Julian. ‘Nasty. Never mind, little chap. How did it happen?’

It took Christy a moment to realise that he was asking her.

‘Oh. I was on the way home—with him,’ she added defiantly. ‘And he chased a rabbit. There’s a tree down in the woods. Just on the edge of a bank. He got in among the roots chasing it, and…’ She hesitated. He was going to be furious.

‘Go on.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Well, it was odd, but there seemed to be tunnels in the bank, behind the tree, and—’

‘What sort of tree?’ he asked sharply. The pup cowered and he moderated his tone. ‘Easy, little chap. What sort of tree, Christy?’

‘Um, an oak. It was awfully smelly.’

‘I know the place. It’s an old badger sett that foxes use now,’ he said grimly. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, he didn’t come out when I called, but I could hear him barking…and then there was a sort of rushing noise and he was still barking, but it was muffled.’ She shivered, remembering.

‘You mean part of the sett collapsed?’ asked Julian in a queer, tight voice.

She nodded.

‘So how did he get out?’ His eyes raked her ruined gown. Clearly this was not the behaviour a viscount expected of his bride.

‘I…I climbed in over the roots and dug him out,’ she said.

His face drained of all colour, and he said in a carefully expressionless voice, ‘You’re telling me you crawled into a badger’s sett, in an unstable bank, that had already collapsed
twice
, to dig out this…this misbegotton excuse for a dog?’

Anger and hurt flared. ‘I wasn’t thinking about his ancestry at the time,’ she said. ‘No doubt you would have left him to his fate and strolled home without a care in the world!’

She didn’t realise she was crying until shaking hands cradled her face and a gentle thumb wiped clumsily at a tear.

‘Christy, he’s just a dog.’ His voice sounded strange. ‘You could have been trapped! Killed! We had no idea where you were!’

She knew he was right, but—‘I couldn’t just leave him!’

His breath came out in a groan. ‘No. I don’t suppose you could. Very well. We’d better patch up him.’

‘How?’ she asked. ‘It looks dreadful.’

He grimaced. ‘I can assure you, it doesn’t feel very pleasant. I think we’ll find Twigg knows how to put it back. He put my shoulder back in for me once when I was a boy. Ring the bell. We’ll send for him.’

She reached up and tugged on the bell pull. Then she looked
at her husband, sitting on the hearth, comforting a mongrel pup, his hands gentle.

‘Julian?’

He looked up, his blue eyes somehow bruised.

‘I’m sorry about the dinner. I don’t suppose you will believe me, but I was coming back for it. Truly, I was.’

His jaw dropped.

Once he’d been sent for, Twigg appeared promptly. Julian rather thought Hallam hadn’t been far away, given the swiftness of his response to the bell. Probably wondering if he would have to intercede on his mistress’s behalf, thought Julian in self-disgust.

I don’t suppose you will believe me…

Ice had condensed in his stomach at those words. She didn’t expect him to believe her? What the hell could he say? He’d already said quite enough and there was the pup to look after now.

Twigg took one look at the shivering pup. ‘Well, well. That’s a nasty mess an’ no mistake.’ He grinned at his master. ‘You’d know what that feels like.’

‘Only too well,’ said Julian drily. ‘Can you put it back?’

‘Oh, aye. Easy enough, if so be as you and the mistress can help. I could get a couple of the lads, but I dessay he’ll feel better without too many strangers messing round with him.’

Christy swallowed. ‘What do you want me to do, Twigg? I don’t know anything about dogs.’

He smiled. ‘You’ll do just fine, m’lady. Now, first thing—since I can’t tip a quart of brandy down his throat like I did with you, Master Julian, you’d best hold his head and shoulders.’ He grinned at Christy and added confidentially, ‘We’ll give him that job, then it’ll likely be him as gets bit.’

‘Thank you,’ said Julian wryly. ‘Did you want a reference, or not?’

But Twigg’s shrewd old eyes were on Christy’s wrist. ‘Looks like you already got a bit of a nip, ma’am.’

Julian focused sharply on the puncture marks. ‘Damn it, Christy! How did that happen?’

‘When I pulled him out,’ she said. ‘I must have hurt his leg. I could see it was all wrong, but the tunnel—’ He drew a savage breath and she broke off, ‘I was in a hurry.’

She was avoiding his gaze and his blood congealed. ‘The bank collapsed again.’ He felt cold, frozen to the marrow. If she hadn’t got out…she wouldn’t have stood a chance with the weight of the earth and possibly the fallen tree on her. She would be dead by now. Buried. They might never have found her. A world without Christy?

He gave vent to his feelings in a few blistering words that turned the air blue and earned him a dressing down from Twigg.

‘Yeh talk nice in front of her ladyship,’ he admonished. ‘’Taint no way to talk to any woman, leave alone your bride!’

He turned to Christy. ‘Now, m’lady, once his lordship’s got the pup firm, I want yeh to lace yer fingers together, and link them under his thigh—like so.’ Gnarled old hands guided hers into position. ‘That’s it. With you bracin’ him, I can twist the leg easier to get the joint back in. See?’

Christy gulped.

Twigg looked sympathetic. ‘Just shut yer eyes. No need to look at what I’m doing. Happen he’ll make a bit of noise, but it can’t be helped.’ He grinned. ‘That’ll just be dog talk for a few of the things Master Julian said a moment back.’

Christy managed a shaky smile. ‘Very well.’

‘Good girl,’ said Julian softly.

Steadied by this praise, she felt better.

She did shut her eyes, but nothing could shut out the pup’s terrified yelps. Tears ran down her face, but she hung on, and suddenly felt a click under her hands, and heard Twigg’s triumphant, ‘Ah! There ’tis! Well done, lass. We’ve done it!’

Sick to her stomach, Christy opened her eyes.

The leg was back in right relation to its owner.

‘Now, he’ll need to be kept warm and quiet for a few days,’ said Twigg, with a glance at Julian. ‘I can take him down the stables with me while that leg heals. What’ll you do with him then?’

The question took Julian by surprise. He looked at the pup
and repressed a shudder. ‘Ask roundabout if anyone owns him; if not, I suppose someone might like him for a child. One of the farmers, perhaps.’

Beside him, Christy’s breath jerked in and she froze to utter stillness.

In a very diffident voice—one she used, he was fast learning, to conceal hurt—she said, ‘May I not keep him?’

J
ulian stared. Keep the pup? Rescue it—yes. Tend its injury—by all means. But keep a misbegotten pup that looked as though it had strayed off a dust heap?

‘Christy, if you want a dog, of course you may have one,’ he said. ‘A proper dog. Not—’ He broke off.

‘Is breeding so important, my lord?’

‘Well, yes. At least—’ He stopped—heard what he was saying.

Christy’s odd eyes met his unflinchingly. ‘Then he is quite dog enough for me. He has a tail to wag when he sees me, ears to prick when I call him, and eyes to tell me—’ She stopped, blinked several times and then went on, ‘That is sufficient for me. I fear I am not quite so nice in my requirements as you, my lord.’

He felt sick. ‘Christy, I didn’t mean…’ But he had once meant it, and her eyes told him that she knew it. The pup…Nan…Christy herself.

‘You really want him?’ He could see his reputation going straight down the sink.

She nodded.

He sighed. ‘There can be no objection. He’ll have to be trained, though, if he is to be a house dog.’

Her smile broke through like sunshine after rain. Hesitant and wonderful.

Twigg grinned. ‘I’ll deal with that. My missus’ll like havin’ the pup to fuss over and he can come back up here to the house when he’s learned his manners nice.’ He turned to Christy. ‘You come down each day to visit him and take him for a walk when that leg’s ready and he’ll learn who’s mistress quick enough.’

Delight flooded Christy. The pup was hers. She stood up, wanting to thank Twigg, but staggered as the Hall spun, a crazy blur of light and stone…

‘Christy!’

Strong arms caught her.

She came to herself seated at the long refectory table, Julian beside her, holding her close. Twigg and the pup were gone.

‘Christy—are you all right?’

‘I’m…I’m quite all right, my lord. Just tired. I should go up now.’

‘In a moment,’ he said. Still with his arm around her, he looked into her face, frowning. She must look a complete fright. She blushed as his gaze travelled to her scratched and filthy hands. He touched one gently and she trembled.

She felt dizzy again. Julian seemed to realise, because his arm tightened. She shut her eyes, leaning against him. Perhaps in a moment he might let her go up to bed. She didn’t like to think about how she was going to get that far.

A moment later she felt herself being swung up into his arms and carried upstairs. Whispers and movement penetrated the haze. And Julian’s harsh voice ordering a bath to be drawn, cloths and warm water to be brought along with supper to her bedchamber. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

She roused as she was lowered with infinite gentleness into a chair before the fire in her room.

‘Here. Let me.’ His voice was a soothing murmur, but her eyes snapped open as a warm, damp cloth touched her face. She was beyond protest as he bathed her face, then her arms and hands. Light, caring touches that insensibly eased her and cleansed more from her than dirt. It sponged away hurt and fear.

Behind them Beth bustled about, directing the footmen where
to place the bath. It didn’t interest her. The strong hands cleansing her held her utterly spellbound. She closed her eyes again, surrendering to his care, and a powerful arm cradled her close. It felt so good to be cared for in this way. Not since she had been a little girl and skinned her knee had anyone tended her like this.

It was not safe. His warmth and strength seduced her senses—she could withstand that. But his tenderness tore at her heart. It would be much easier if he were the cold, arrogant aristocrat. But behind the pride and chill was a man who could ravish the heart from a woman without even knowing, or wanting it.

He was being kind now because he felt guilty about hurting her. Desperately she reminded herself that he wanted a dutiful bride to give him an heir. He enjoyed her passion and her body, but the emotions battering at her held no value for him.

Folly to weave dreams around simple kindness, to imagine that his hands had trembled as he sponged away dirt from her face, that the long fingers had grazed her throat on purpose. She fought the urge to nestle closer, burrowing against him.

Beth’s voice broke into her daze. ‘Comfrey salve, my lord. Best for those scratches.’

‘Thank you.’

Salve was rubbed in with a feather-light touch. Face, hands, arms.

By the time he had tended Christy’s scrapes and the bite, Julian ached with arousal. He breathed carefully. Kissing her senseless in front of her maid was more than slightly inappropriate. Especially since he would end by carrying her to his bed and…He halted the train of thought right there. She was exhausted; she needed sleep.

Never before had he realised how deeply it was possible to desire a woman. And it was not just that he wanted her
more
than any other woman. He wanted her differently. He wanted all of her. Everything he had pretended was unimportant. Her barbed tongue as well as her sweetness. Her blazing honesty that never backed down. Her pride.

He wanted
her
. Christy. His wife.

‘Beg pardon, my lord. Bath’s ready.’

He looked around. Christy’s maid stood beside a steaming bathtub by the fire. Towels lay over a chair.

It required an effort of will to stand up.

‘I’ll be in my room,’ he said. Everything in him roared a protest, that he should dismiss the maid and care for Christy himself, but he couldn’t trust his control. He would come back when she was safely in bed to make sure she was all right.

Christy submitted to Beth’s ministrations, clumsily washing herself with her left hand, but permitting the maid to wash and rinse her hair. Her bandaged right wrist ached, but overlaying the pain was the memory of Julian’s gentleness as he had cleansed and tended it.

When Beth asked, she stood to be rinsed with a bucket of warm water. Once dry, she pulled on a robe and sat by the fire to rub her hair dry. Food was brought. A hot, rich soup, bread and cheese. She ate hungrily.

Beth took the tray when she was finished, saying gently, ‘Bed, my lady?’

Bed. Obediently she got into bed and Beth drew the bed-hangings, leaving a small gap so Christy could reach the bedside table.

Slight sounds came to her. Hushed voices as two footmen removed the bath. Beth tidying up.

‘Will there be anything more, my lady?’

‘No. Just snuff the candles. Thank you. I will ring in the morning.’ She felt as though she could sleep for days and still be tired. It wasn’t just her body, tired though it was. Her very spirit felt weary, as though she had been confronted with something that she could neither walk away from nor ultimately win. She lay back against the pillows, listening as Beth moved about snuffing candles. Bit by bit the room darkened.

She had to be sensible. Not moping because she…because she what? Had a husband who worried about her and lost his temper when she had frightened him? Because she could depend on
him to look after her? Because he would follow an honourable course no matter what?

The darkness swelled as Beth doused the lamp on the dressing table.

She had nothing to mope about. She had aimed at the moon and she had tripped. That was all. She hadn’t hurt herself badly. Only broken a useless dream. Countless girls and women were sleeping in doorways tonight, and, but for Julian’s sense of honour, she might well have ended up among them.

‘Leave this one, my lady?’ Beth was back, looking at the candle on the bedside table.

‘Yes. Thank you. Go to bed.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Another door closed. The world seemed full of closing doors.

She had lost nothing. Only a dream she had never really believed in. Not for herself. It wasn’t practical, or even safe to dream that particular dream. She would manage without it. Compared to her failure to keep Nan safe for Jane, it wasn’t important.

She sat up, took off her spectacles, and leaned over to blow out the candle on her bedside table. Darkness poured over her. And with it, fear. Blind, unreasoning fear. Of the dark. Panic. Black, choking, as the tree shifted, earth and stones sliding around her, pattering over her, and she heard their hungry growl, knew she had only instants, seconds to get out before the consuming dark took her…

She forced herself to breathe. Clean, free air. She was safe. Safe in her own bed. Julian was in his room. If she called, he would come. But she would not call. Knowing that she could must be enough. Better if he didn’t see any more of her weakness. A bright moon had been rising earlier. Moonlight was safer than falling asleep with a lamp or candle.

Flinging back the covers and hangings, she got up and went to the windows. The curtains rattled as she pulled them back. The clear, bright sky drove panic into retreat.

She turned away from the window and cried out in terror as a shadow moved by the door.

‘Christy!’

He was across the room and had her in his arms before she could take another breath. His heat infused her, warming, comforting. Beneath her cheek his heart thudded. One hand held her close, the other traced her jaw, her lips, throat, and slid shaking into her hair, pressing her closer to the reassuring beat of his heart.

‘Shh. It’s me. I needed to see that you were all right. That you weren’t frightened.’

She tried to summon a lie. Tell him she hadn’t been frightened. But her trembling body betrayed her.

‘You…you startled me. I wanted light…it was so dark. And it smelt awful—’ She was babbling, unsure whether she meant her room or the sett. ‘I’m sorry about the dinner—I was coming back for it. Truly.’

His arms hardened instantly. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’ His voice was rough. ‘Then when you told me what had happened, and I knew how close you’d been to—’ He broke off, and she felt a shudder rack him. Strangely, it steadied her. ‘The things I said—I’m sorry. The dinner wasn’t important.’ His mouth brushed clumsily over her temple, her eyes. Then he released her and stepped back, his face etched hard in silver and shadow. ‘Is there anything you need?’

She swallowed. Pride would help here. Pride would allow her to assure him that she was very well. That she had only needed fresh air…that she hadn’t been frightened…

‘Just you.’

Her voice was the merest breath, but she saw her words strike. Saw the shock in his expression.

His voice neutral, he said, ‘You wish me to remain with you for the night? Just hold you?’

It would be easy to let him believe that was all. Safer. And untrue.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I need to know that I am still alive. I need
you
.’

‘Christy.’

It was all he said before his mouth claimed hers. Words were impossible, unnecessary, consumed in the fierce desperation of their kiss. Then she was swept up in his arms, being carried past
her own bed and through the door to
his
room and
his
bed and tumbled on to it. There was scarcely time to gasp before he was with her, his weight, hot and hard, covering her, swift hands banishing her nightgown, his robe, until nothing remained between them. Nothing but fiery need, all restraint and distance incinerated.

Julian couldn’t speak. There were words he needed to say, but his throat was hot and tight, choking him. Because she was kissing him, her cheeks wet with tears. And her hands, hesitant and a little clumsy, were a burning, soul-deep delight. Every shy touch echoing the words in his heart, the ones trapped in his throat.

He wanted everything. He wanted to give her everything. Everything given and received. Everything taken and offered. Because it had nearly been too late.

He kissed his way down her throat, licking and caressing, finding the frantic pulse beating at the base. Adoring the high, sweet curve of her breast, coming to the taut nipple and drawing it into the dark heat of his mouth to suckle fiercely so her body arched wildly and she cried out, a strangled sound of pleasure. Pleasure stabbing deep in his own body, driven by her response.

He shifted, burning, and reached between restless silken thighs. ‘Open.’ His voice harsh, demanding. But she obeyed and he pressed shaking fingers to hot, liquid silk as he took her mouth again, kissing her deeply in searing promise.

Everything.

He stroked and teased, finding the hidden nub, circling so that she moaned and pushed against him, pleading for more. He slid one finger inside, felt her body clench wildly, and pressed with his thumb. She convulsed, her cries spilling into his mouth as release took her, leaving her limp and trembling.

So easy, so tempting to take her now. But he’d wanted to give everything.

He slid down her hot, quivering body, kissing every slick inch. Breasts, sweetly curving waist, the gentle swell of her belly, flaring hips and finally the soft cream silk of her thighs, pushing them wide, wider, with his shoulders. She gasped, a
high, shocked sound and tried to push him away. He captured her hands gently.

‘No. Don’t fight me. Trust me. Let me love you.’

The words stilled her startled resistance and Christy’s mind fractured at the hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thighs, at the harsh sound of his breath…the warm caress of his breath…there—there where she was aching and burning again. It terrified her…the intimacy, the emotions pouring through her.

Let me love you…

Oh, please, please…

Strong hands held her hips captive, tilting her for an impossibly tender, shockingly silken caress.

Her hips bucked as dark pleasure speared her and her throat burst with a raw, choked scream at the hot pressure of his mouth. Her hands sought him, clutching, sliding through the silk of his hair. It shattered her, terrified her. It was unbearable, it was wonderful. She would die if he didn’t stop. She would die if he did stop.

She broke, crashing into oblivion as ecstasy poured through her again, consuming her in a fiery cataract. She hardly heard his tender, loving words as her tears spilt. And she wanted more, she ached, felt empty.

‘Please.’ Her voice shook. ‘Please. I want you…all of you.’

With a harsh sound he surged up her body and she opened fully to him, felt the hard press of him at her entrance.