When the Splendor Falls (35 page)

Leigh remained where she was for a moment longer, watching Blythe’s beautiful, laughing face as she danced in Adam’s arms. Blythe had been right, she danced well, without a misstep, when in his arms, the single red rose tucked in the lacy edge of her bodice. Leigh’s eyes widened slightly as she watched Adam incline his head, as if breathing of the rose-scented sweetness of Blythe’s warm flesh. Leigh closed her eyes in disbelief, a sudden thought striking her. Then shaking her head, she turned away and wandered out into the gardens, determined to steal a few more minutes of quiet by herself.

Leigh shivered. Odd, she should suddenly feel cold on as pleasant an evening as this. Leigh heard a step behind her and turned around, thinking Matthew had concluded his business and come to find her.

“Matt, did you—” she began, her words faltering as she recognized the tall figure approaching her with the almost catlike tread. He had moved quickly and quietly along the path behind her, never making a sound until he had wanted her to hear him.

Before she could even take a backward step, Neil Braedon was beside her, towering over her as his body blocked out the cheerful, comforting lights shining from the windows of the ballroom.

“You’re not in love with him,” he said bluntly, his hands reaching out and caressing her shoulders when she would have turned away.

“Whatever do you mean? Let me go, Mr. Braedon. You have no right to say such a thing to me. How dare you!” Leigh finally found her voice, desperate to get away from him, from the look in his eyes, from the touch of his hands, from the isolating darkness that had enveloped them.

“I dare.”

“Leave me alone. I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Braedon,” Leigh said, turning her face away, but he moved, dragging her along with him until they stood in the lantern’s revealing glow.

“Tell me you are in love with Matthew Wycliffe; then, and only then will I leave you alone.”

Leigh looked up at him in surprise, wondering at his demand, and opening her mouth to assure him that she was in love with Matthew, but when her eyes met his, she couldn’t seem to find the words proclaiming her love for Matthew, words that, if spoken, would mock the feelings she knew she felt deep within her heart for Neil Braedon.

“I am going to marry Matthew,” she said slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. “I have pledged myself to him. He is the man I am going to marry. He is an honorable man, a kind man, and he loves me.”

Neil smiled, but it was a cruel smile. “You can’t say them, can you? Don’t look away,” he said, releasing her shoulder to capture her chin and hold it tilted up to his gaze as he searched her face for any sign of her true feelings. “You don’t love him. Your eyes can’t lie, even if your lips might. Do you mold yourself against him, Leigh Alexandra, when he holds you, touches you, kisses you? Do you burn where he touches you? Has he ever kissed you, touched you like I have? I don’t think he has, he’s too much the gentleman, isn’t he?”

“Something you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. And that is why I stole that kiss from you. Your first kiss, wasn’t it? And yet,” he reminded her, unfairly, “you kissed me back, as if we had been lovers for a long time.”

Leigh lifted her hand to hit him, to stop him from revealing any more of the truth, but he caught her hand before she could strike him, and held it pinned behind her back instead, bringing her breasts against his chest, her thighs pressed to his.

“Have you missed me this week?” he asked, taunting her, wanting to anger her so she would respond to him, forget herself long enough to admit the truth. He hadn’t intended this to happen, but when seeing her standing alone in the garden, he hadn’t been able to control himself any longer. He knew why she was marrying Wycliffe, but now, he also knew that she was not in love with the man she had promised herself to.

“Missed you? You have an incredible opinion of yourself, Mr. Braedon. One kiss, and a stolen one. A case of mistaken identities. A tumble in the hay, that is what you said you were interested in, wasn’t it? And then when you discovered I was more than a wench to be bedded and forgotten, you took to your heels. You wanted a dalliance, nothing more. After all, you’ll be returning to the territories very soon, won’t you?” she asked, making her tone of voice sound hopeful that there would be no delay in his departure. “You should be quite relieved that I’m to marry Matthew.”

“You’ve sold yourself to him to save your family.”

“No! That is a lie. I’ve known and liked him for years. I’ve thought of marrying him for some time.”

“Thought? Admit it, you only now have decided to marry him because of your family debts.”

“You don’t know anything about me. About my family. You’re nothing in my life. Nothing!”

“Nothing?” he repeated, a challenging glint in his eye. “Your family is in debt. You’ve agreed to marry Wycliffe in order to keep them from losing Travers Hill.”

“My family is everything to me,” Leigh whispered.

“And I am nothing.”

“You have nothing to do with this. Just go back to the territories. Back to the memory of your beloved wife. And leave me alone. I don’t understand why you’re saying these things to me. What does it matter to you?” she challenged.

“Maybe I’m not just interested in a dalliance as you claim.”

Leigh pressed her hand against his chest, trying to push free from his embrace, to gather her strength against him, against the seduction of his words.

“Am I to feel honored by such a declaration? Whether you are interested in a dalliance, or more than a dalliance, is of no concern to me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“For once be truthful. Admit that there is an attraction between us. Or am I to assume that you kiss every stranger like you kissed me?” he asked insultingly.

“If you think that, then—”

“No, Leigh. I don’t believe that. And that is why I’m here. And I think you know that too.”

Leigh swallowed the fear rising inside of her. “If I felt a momentary attraction to you, then that was all it was,” she said, trying to laugh. “Infatuation, Mr. Braedon. That was all it was,” Leigh said bravely, almost convincing herself that it was true.

“Prove it to me.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Scared? No? Then prove that you’re in love with Wycliffe. If you can, then I’ll leave you alone, and agree with you that we were briefly infatuated with one another, and I’ll trouble you no longer,” he said, but he didn’t give her a chance to answer him, and his mouth closed over her slightly parted lips as he kissed her deeply, moving so she had to lean against him or fall.

Leigh shuddered uncontrollably at his touch. His mouth was hard against hers. His lips were rough and demanding, then soft and persuasive, barely touching hers. They lifted for a tantalizing second before they returned to claim possession again, the pressure even deeper until her mouth parted wider, allowing a more intimate contact between them as his tongue touched her lips, sliding along them and feeling their shape, then moving between to touch and taste the moist softness of her tongue.

His arms held her against him, until each breath she struggled to draw into her lungs became his. His hands followed the smooth, tapering contours of her back, then settled possessively around her waist for a moment, holding the slender roundness clasped between, and held so easily by his greater strength, before moving to caress her arms, one of his hands sliding the thin gauze of her sleeve from her shoulder to leave it bare beneath his hand. He slid his hand down, to touch the soft rise of breast, the heat from her flesh sweetly scented as his fingers slipped underneath the edge of her loosened bodice and found the delicate nipple that had budded beneath. To feel it taut and hardened was proof enough for him.

He released her lips, his mouth moving along her flushed cheek to her ear, where he nibbled gently, the heady perfume of jessamine and roses from the garden entwined in the thick braid of chestnut hair crowning her head forever to bring memories of Leigh Travers to his mind.

“Deny me. Deny what is between us, Leigh, and you damn us both,” he told her harshly, then becoming still, hope filling him, when he felt her touching him, her breasts pressed against him as she caressed his neck as her hands moved to cradle his head, her fingers sliding into the curls of golden hair that just barely touched his collar, her lips opening beneath his, no longer denying him as she sought his kiss.

“There you are, Braedon!” Guy’s slurred voice sounded out of the darkness. “I thought I saw you come out here. Want to finish that business once and for all.”

Leigh heard her brother’s voice and stiffened in Neil’s arms, then she tried to move free of his embrace, but he would not release her. “Please, let me go,” she begged, trying to pull up her sleeve with an unsteady hand, suddenly feeling the coolness of the evening air against her bared breast.

For what seemed an eternity, he stared down into her face, memorizing each feature, her lips soft and full from his kiss, her eyes heavy with the passion they had shared. His hands tightened unconsciously on the delicate bones of her shoulders for a second, then he released her and turned to face Guy, a dangerous glint in his pale eyes.

“Guy?” Leigh questioned worriedly as she moved from behind Neil and watched her brother stagger forward drunkenly. But despite his condition, she had never been so happy to see someone in her life. His timely arrival had saved her from betraying her family—and of betraying her own honor. She had promised to marry another man and she would not dishonor him. A moment of stolen passion, with a stranger, in a darkened garden, could not answer for a lifetime of shame.

“Leigh? What are you doing out here with this swine? Trying to take liberties with you, has he? Not surprising. He’s no gentleman, Leigh. Could’ve told you that.”

“No, Guy. He was…was just offering me his congratulations on my betrothal,” Leigh said, not looking at Neil, even though she felt his piercing stare when she made her explanation. “And…and he wanted to know if I was interested in selling Capitaine,” Leigh added, remembering her conversation earlier in the evening with a man who, despite her refusals, was determined to buy the colt.

“The fool. You’ll never sell him. Capitaine is not for sale, Braedon, and never to you even if he was. Go inside, Leigh. Braedon and I have some unfinished business to take care of. I won’t be but just a minute,” he said arrogantly, thinking to deal quickly with Braedon.

“What is this about, Guy?”

“Won’t race me. Knows I’ll beat him. Says I don’t have anything he wants. Doesn’t think I’ll pay my debt to him. Well, I’m a gentleman, and I always pay my debts, even to riffraff like him. But I’ve a far better way of paying this one,” he said, stepping closer, and into the light.

“No, Guy. Please. Put it down!” Leigh cried when she caught sight of the pistol in his hand.

“Went and got my dueling pistols. My gentleman’s toys, as you called them,
Mister
Braedon. We’ll see who’s the best shot since you’re too much the coward to race me, to give me the chance to win back what I lost to you, like a real gentleman would have. Well, I challenge you, sir, to a duel,” he said, stepping forward unsteadily and slapping Neil across the face with one of his gloves. “Turned me down in front of my friends, made me look the fool, well, try to turn me down this time, sir, and you’ll be branded the coward I already know you to be.”

“Guy, stop it!”

“Stay out of this, Leigh. This is between Braedon and me. We’ll finish it here and now. We’ll see how accurate my pistols are at twenty paces, eh, Braedon?” he said, holding out the other pistol he carried for Neil to accept, which he did.

“Oh, Guy, no, don’t!” Leigh cried, too late, for Guy had already walked across the garden to take a stand before an old cedar, his pistol held out before him, and remarkably steady considering all that he had consumed. He took aim on his opponent.

But neither Leigh nor especially Guy could believe what happened next. A knife had embedded itself in the tree beside his head. And there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that it landed where it had been carefully aimed. Limply, Guy dropped his arm, stunned by how close to death he had come.

“I will not duel with you, Mr. Travers,” Neil told him.

But Guy, drunk as he was, or perhaps because of it, felt a surge of pride and courage quickening in his Travers blood. “I insist, sir,” he responded, raising his arm and the pistol again.

“Very well, sir, but this is hardly a fair match. You have been warned.”

“I insist, sir! ’Tis a matter of honor.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Please, you can’t do this!” Leigh pleaded, rushing between them. “He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he is doing.”

“Ah, but I do, sister dear. Will ten paces serve, sir, rather than twenty?”

“Quite acceptable.”

“On the count, sir?”

“At your discretion, Mr. Travers,” Neil responded cordially.

“Please, Leigh, get out of the line of fire.”

“No, no, I won’t move! Stop this! This is madness. You don’t hate each other. You are not enemies. No real harm has been done. Your damned pride. That is what it is all about, Guy.”

“I would advise you to move, Miss Travers,” Neil advised, playing with the gun as if testing its weight and probable accuracy. “Very nice.”

“I did tell you so, sir.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, no, please,” Leigh cried again, glancing between the two men as if they were crazed. But Guy, with a casualness that bespoke his drunken state, had stepped slightly to her right, and had taken aim again on Neil’s tall form.

Neither man spoke. Suddenly there was a flash of fire, then smoke, the roaring of the pistol deafening.

Leigh stared at Guy in disbelief, but he continued to stand upright, his eyes never leaving Neil.

Leigh followed his gaze, dread filling her, but Neil had not fallen. He still stood.

“My shot, I believe.”

Even through his drunken haze, Guy, upon meeting Neil’s eyes, knew that death awaited him. But he stayed where he was, facing it with the pride he had been born with. “I hope your aim is as good as you have claimed, sir. I do not wish to linger. And ’twould be even worse to be maimed.”