Wolfsgate (12 page)

Her hands skimmed over the hard muscles of his thighs which were now pressed around her, then they slid up around his taut middle. She tasted the ale in his mouth, inhaled the tobacco that clung to him along with an undeniable masculine musk, all of it unwinding that knot within her. His tongue lashed against hers, and a melting warmth seeped through her, seizing her core.

He suddenly pulled away. “Christ,” he whispered as he rested his forehead against hers. Her fingers reached up and caressed his cool cheek. “Forgive me, Justine.”

“For what? For…that?”

“No, not for
that
.” He smiled against her skin, his thumb tracing her swollen lips. “Forgive me for being a difficult bastard.”

“I forgive you.” She kissed the underside of his jaw. His burning gaze was dissolving her like sugar crystals in a hot cup of tea. “Let me take your frock coat from you.” She rose and absently put a hand on his thigh to steady herself, his muscles hardening under her touch. Brandon stretched his arms out. His shirt clung to his smooth broad back in perspiration, and he fidgeted in his seat, his shoulders twitching.

Justine frowned as she touched his arm. “Brandon, would you like a bath? It might help.” He cast a glance at her. “The tub is in the kitchen, if that’s all right with you?”

“That’s fine. I’ll help you.”

“No, you sit. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“I need to move, do something.”

He rose to his feet and rested one arm on her shoulder, and they slowly walked into the kitchen together. She showed Brandon the tub in the anteroom, and he helped her pull it out before the fireplace. He lit a fire as Justine filled pots with water, then took out a clean bath cloth and a larger one for him to step on.

Once the water heated he took the hot pots and filled the tub himself. Before the tub was even halfway full, he began to strip his clothes off and climbed into it. Justine’s cheeks inflamed once more. She brought over a smaller bowl of warm water for him to pour over his head.

“Oh, that feels good.” He groaned and the rich satisfaction in his voice warmed her insides. She licked her lips and held out the soap and a small cloth to him. He took them and began to scrub his skin. She dried her hands and headed for the door.

“Justine, wait. Sit with me.”

She turned, her eyes wide and went to Molly’s chair by the hearth. He reached back to his neck with the soapy cloth. “Oh, let me.” She took it from his wet fingers and lifting his hair, scrubbed the back of his neck and down over his shoulders. She worked in small circular motions rubbing the soapy cloth gently around his throat, around his ears, the hard angles of his jaw relaxing under her fingers. She dipped the cloth in the water to rinse it and went over his face and neck again washing away the soap from his skin.

“Very efficient, Lady Graven.”

She let out a small laugh. “Years of training under Nanny’s care.” His languid eyes remained on hers, and the banging in her chest continued. “You’ve gotten some sun I see,” she said. “Not as pale as the moon any longer.”

“I’ve been riding and walking quite a bit lately.”

“Yes you have. Your leg is better?”

“Better, but still not completely right. I’m not sure it ever will be.”

This bath was much, much different from all the other times she had washed him. He was no longer a helpless, ill patient. No, this was a vibrant man in all his glory, perhaps tired and drunk and weary, but still a vibrant man.

A man who had just kissed her.

Soapy water dripped down the firm contours of his chest. She took in a deep breath and rubbed the cloth down his chest which was peppered with dark hair. She rubbed down his long lean arms, where powerful veins seemed sculpted into his skin.

“Justine?”

“Hmm?”

“Feels very good,” he said, his voice smooth as silk.

“I’m glad you like it,” suddenly rolled out of her mouth. His lips curled into a trace of that familiar, devastating smile once more.

“I do.” His voice dropped, the smile vanished, and his eyes closed. Only the splashes of the bathwater filled the silence between them.

“Um, could you lean forward?” she asked. “Your back…”

He leaned forward, and she rubbed the soapy cloth over his neck, sweeping it down over the long lines of his back. Another low groan escaped his throat. The loaded silence was crushing her. She scrubbed across his back once more.

“Now I feel revived,” he murmured. He leaned back suddenly, the water sloshing around him. He gazed up at her face.

Justine swallowed hard. He was so very handsome, every bit as handsome as she remembered him, but she had not paid too much attention to it back then, had she? He had been an older brother figure to her, and she had valued that and liked it tremendously. William had hardly been the kind, warm sibling she had hoped he would be.

She had been thrilled to be a part of their family. After Justine’s father had died suddenly in a coach accident, sadness, apprehension, and uncertainty had defined her life. A year later, her mother had married Richard and suddenly Justine became part of a family. She had an older brother and sister who had an impressive house in town along with a titled uncle, aunt, and cousin who owned a beautiful country estate.

Brandon was her elder step-cousin. Oh, for God’s sake, he was her husband now.

That sensuous half-smile faded from his lips, and his impenetrable stare bored a hole through her. Droplets of water dripped from his slick, raven hair down his forehead. On an impulse, she reached out and wiped at one with her fingertips. He grabbed her wrist with his hand and yanked her close to him. She let out a gasp as hot, soapy water rushed down her arms soaking her sleeves.

His eyes narrowed over her. “I’m still not sure if I can trust you, Justine.”

She held his gaze evenly. “That is for you to decide,” she breathed.

“Yes, it is. Well said.”

Brandon drew her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. She wasn’t sure if that kiss signaled an
entente
or if it was the sophisticated gesture of a predator softening its prey before the kill. He brought his fingers to her jaw where his thumb stroked her lower lip. Heat jabbed through her. He seemed to like doing that.

She liked it too.

“Tell me,” he asked. “I’m not ruined?”

“No, you are not ruined.” A smile lit up her face, and she wiped a tendril of hair from her eyes.

He reached out to smooth back another unruly lock of her hair. His fingers lingered on the edge of her ear tickling the delicate skin. “Why would you do this for me, Justine?”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes searched his. “Why would I not?”

“Not many people would. Selfishness reigns in our day and age.”

“Brandon, your life and your family’s legacy were in jeopardy. I couldn’t be a part of your destruction. Yes, I did play a role in their plan, but not willingly.” She shook her head and her voice dropped. “I could never harm you intentionally. You were always kind to me, and your father was very good to me. He was more a father to me than I have ever known.” She twisted the cloth in her hands. “How could I allow for you and Wolfsgate to be destroyed?”

“My father obviously trusted you.”

“I loved Lord Jeremy,” she said, tears pricking her eyes. Brandon’s thumb stroked the soft skin of her jaw. Her cheeks flushed, and he sighed and took back his hand. Justine bit her lip and dipped the washcloth in the water again and scrubbed his knee with it. He stretched the leg out and leaned his foot against the rim of the tub, and she brought the washcloth down his calf.

Justine went to the other side of the tub to wash his other leg. She felt a rivulet of perspiration trickle down her chest as she leaned over and scrubbed his thigh, bringing the cloth down his leg to his foot. He let out a low chuckle then leaned forward, plucked the washcloth from her hand, and brought it all the way up his thigh under the water to his pelvis. Justine shot up and turned to fill another bowl with hot water. She held it out to him, and he poured it over his head groaning as the warm waterfall streamed down over his body. She stilled, the image burning into her brain. He handed her back the bowl, and she gripped it tightly.

“It’s such a huge relief to know there is money in the estate,” he said. “This changes everything.”

“Money always does.”

His eyes darted up at her. “William and Richard are not yet aware of your deception?”

“Good God, no. They believe the only source of income now is what little they have allowed Davidson to generate on the estate.”

“And you’ve kept up this masquerade for some time? Over a year? That’s why you’ve continued on without servants or new clothes or much upkeep around here?”

Justine bit her lip. He had noticed that she wore the same two dresses over and over again. “Yes,” she said.

His somber gaze settled on her. “That all changes immediately.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, but her heart skipped a beat as she opened the bath sheet for him. He stood up from the tub and took the cloth from her, a small smile forming on his lips. With their gazes locked on each other, he dried his upper body with the cloth. Finally, he wrapped the linen about his waist and climbed out of the tub with his warm hand clamped onto her shoulder for support.

“Leave the tub for tomorrow, Justine, and help me to my chamber. I want a proper bed tonight,” he said as he headed for the door.

Her eyes bulged.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do I no longer have a room?”

“Of course you do, it’s just that I haven’t had a chance to prepare it properly.”

“I thought that’s what you were doing today, banging away up there.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I was annoyed with you, so I left it, and took more time with Richard’s old room instead. Yours has no bedlinen or…Stop laughing, Brandon.”

“I am a very clean boy right now, Justine.”

“Yes.” Her gaze swept over his gleaming skin, his contoured form looming over her. “You are.”

“And I’m very tired and somewhat drunk, and I’m getting cold standing here debating this with you. Take me to your room.”

She froze. “What?”

“Your room,” he said. “I’m sure your bed is pristine and fresh. Anyway, I’ve already lain in your bed, haven’t I? Come on. Let’s go.”

“But—”

“Yours.”

She walked before him on the staircase, gripping the brass candle holder, her knuckles white. The light cast its soft glow on the paintings of Graven ancestors hanging on the walls of the grand staircase. The stern light-colored eyes of Brandon’s grand-father and great-grandfather seemed illuminated in the light, following their steady progress up the stairs.

Justine’s favorite was of Lady Caroline as a young mother, her hair long, full and flowing, the same rich dark color as her son’s. She held the hand of a three-year-old Brandon, who was pressed at her side, a blazing, satisfied smile lighting her lips. It was Brandon’s smile, his mother’s, the one he rarely wore any longer. Justine had caught him staring at the portrait the other day when she had been rushing up the stairs, but he had turned away immediately without a word and tramped out of the house.

His bare feet padded on the stairs behind her now, his clean soapy scent drifting over her like a fine cologne teasing her senses, sounding an alarm. They walked down the long landing towards the last door on the right. Her fingers clasped the handle tightly as she pushed open the door to her room. Brandon immediately peeled off the bath sheet from his body, tossed it on the floor, stripped the quilted cover from her bed, and flung himself facedown onto the mattress.

“Wonderful.” He let out a groan.

Justine’s eyes flared at the sight of a naked Brandon on her bed.
What a beautiful rear he has.
A current sparked through her insides. She put the candle down carefully on her dresser across from the bed.

“Where are you?” his deep voice rolled through the darkness.

“Here, I—”

“Come to bed.”

“Brandon—”

“Come to bed, Justine.”

She untied her robe with cold fingers, shrugging it off her shoulders and flicking off her slippers. She took heavy steps to the bed and climbed in, the linens cool against her heated skin. He turned his head on the pillow, and his eyes studied her in the dim light. She was hardly breathing. Her brain worked overtime to convince her this arrangement was perfectly ordinary, they were husband and wife after all. Any minute now she would relax, breathe again, find sleep.

Impossible.

Might conversation help?

“Brandon, remember when I first came to Wolfsgate and there was this terrible storm full of howling winds and thunder and lightning? And all of us were so very frightened? The walls were practically shaking with the thunder. Nanny had gotten us all into one big bed together and—”

“And told us mad ghost stories and sang old Cornish ditties she really shouldn’t have shared with children?” He chuckled. “Yes, I remember.”

Justine smiled, her muscles finally relaxing. “I didn’t understand the ditties.”

“No, of course you didn’t.”

“But Annie explained them to me later.” They both laughed.

“Good God, nothing escaped that girl,” Brandon said. “The last time I saw you was when I left for Jamaica, wasn’t it? You had brought me one of my mother’s roses to say goodbye. You had petals in your hair.” He wound a strand of her coppery brown hair around his finger.

Justine’s scalp tingled. “You and your father had been fighting. You were so upset. I thought if I brought you the rose you would, I don’t know, be less upset, I suppose. I was a young girl then, what did I know?”

“You understood how I was feeling. And you tried to do something to make it better. How old were you then?”

“Sixteen.”

“Not so very young.” He released her hair and folded his arms under his head, the firm contours of his shoulders visible in the waning firelight. His heavy eyes remained on hers. “This was your bedchamber back then too, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And now we’re all grown up, and here I am in your bed,” he said in a low, rich tone which quickened her pulse. “I have to get to know the girl I left behind years ago,” he whispered. “That girl who is now my grown-up wife.” His eyes drifted closed, and his breathing deepened. He was asleep.