Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (10 page)

“You’re so light on your feet. It’s a shame yon
marquis hasn’t quite accomplished the correct way to dance with
you.”

“Oh, heave off, ye horse’s ass.”

She hissed the words and opened her eyes for a fraction of a second, viewing one of his buttons before shutting her eyes again.

“Oh listen! It’s Brandy! I knew you’d return to me, love.”

Oh no. No.
She hadn’t just slipped out of character. No. It wasn’t possible.

“I don’t know...what...you’re talking
about,” Helene answered.

“And I refuse to believe that. But it’s no
matter. Oh, look there. You’re shaking. And you missed a step.
Remember, it’s one, two, three, love.”

She didn’t know exactly when he let her feet touch the floor. It was like a dream. Mus
ic accompanied their steps, weaving some sort of spell about them. She didn’t want
to open her eyes and change anything. His arm
held her closely enough that when she
stumbled, she didn’t fall, while the hand
holding hers was sending lightning-like sparks through her palm.

“That’s it, darling. You’ve got a natural rhythm. And I have to tell you, from the look on your face right now, there’s not a
soul who’d doubt our story.”

What look?

Helene’s feet stopped. Gil stumbled. A sensation akin to ice water covered her, invading her entire frame. Salvation reached out for her as d
ancing dots replaced his face
. This time, she welcomed the faintness. And then he ruined it.

“Don’t you even think about it.”

“I’m sorry, My Lord. I mean Gil.”

“Oh. Fine. Then I’ll simply take matters
into my hands again. If you aren’t able to stop me, I can just kiss
you at will, can’t I?”

Her eyes went wide. The dots vanished
. She stared up at Gil. And he was smiling.

“That was a lovely start, you two. Why…with
practice, you and Gil will be the envy of any dance floor. I can already see it.”

Lady Bridget spoke up, applauding from her
position on the piano bench. She was joined by Reginald’s clapping.
Oh, thank goodness!
The music hadn’t been in her mind.    

“You can unhand me now...Gil.” 

The arm tightened. Her feet left the floor.

“What if I say no?”

He chuckled, and she felt it through his chest! She had to do something. Say anything. And quickly!

“But…why would you do that? I agree with your plan. I’ll even call
you Gil without being ‘directed to do so’.”  She used his voice with
the last four words, and his arm tightened so much she was having difficulty breathing.

“Perhaps I like it, Helene. What would you say to that?”

“I’d say yer a bloomin’ idiot, with no eyes in yer head, that’s
wot I’d say.”

“Guilty as charged,” he whispered.

Then, God help her, his lips touched hers.

She went so perfectly still her back rebelled, and then her
legs and arms joined in, molding her entire frame to his. She moaned as her lips betrayed her too, parting to enjoy his mouth. Sensation crashed
through her stomach, leaving a raging trail of shivers and then
such heat filled her, she felt sure the flames might encompass her and consume
her — and it wouldn’t matter.

Gil pulled back, lifting his head, and
he looked pale.

“God, but you’re a lovely whore, Brandy-love.”

“And yer a...silver-tongued...devil.”

She spoke in gasps as
he set her down.

“Silver-tongued? All this time, I thought you disliked me
because I wasn’t glib enough for you.”

Oh heavens! She must be truly losing her mind. From one kiss? One, truly heavenly kiss? But f
or that one event, time and space had disappeared, along with all the horror. All the lies. All the scars. And now reality intruded. It was time to
pay the price.

God had no sense of humor
after all. He probably didn’t even smile.

“Forgive me, My Lord. I mean Gil. I can’t do what you
ask. I
simply
can’t
do it.”

He let her go while she spoke. She wobbled for a moment
.

“You should’ve thought of that before saying ‘I do’,” he replied.

“I
am
thinking of that. I regret it, Gillian, truly I do, but
I can’t promenade to anybody, damn it! Use your eyes for a
change instead of your overbearing sense of vengeance!”

She was sobbing long before she reached her room and hoped
he finally understood. He couldn’t pass her off as a lady, and he should know.

He was the one who’d called her a whore.

***

“Here I thought you had matters under control. And just look. You go and muck it up
.”

“Shut up, Bridget.” Gil narrowed his eyes. “How the hell did
you get out of your chambers, anyway?”

“The servants have a penchant for that little lady.
Somehow, my lock just flew open on its own.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Will there be money in it?” Reg quipped.

Gil glared in reply.

“I assume that means no. Pity.”

“All right. If you two are such experts, what did I do
wrong?”

“Well…until that kiss, I thought you had it all the
way, Gil, darling.”  Bridget nodded and crossed her ample arms.

“What the blazes does that mean?”

“Only that after making the earth move for her,
a simple lover-like word or two would’ve been forthcoming. But no. You,
Gillian…are a complete brute.”

“Make some sense, damn it!”

‘What she means, Gil, is that calling the girl a whore
probably wasn’t in your best interests.”

“Calling her
what
?”

“You said...oof!”

Reginald, Third Marquis of Dunsberry,
toppled off the piano bench, holding his stomach, while
Bridget dusted her palms together.

“Oh! This is absolutely wonderful!”

Gil frowned, wondering exactly when the world stopped making sense. “What is?”

“You don’t remember what you said, do you?” Bridget
asked.

“No, damn it! And I’m getting tired of all the dramatics. If I
called her a whore, I wasn’t far off, now was I?”

“Oh, dear. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“What isn’t? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’ve decided I
’m not interested in pursuing this conversation any further. I’m more of a mind to take another ride. You with me, Reg?”

“Com…ing.”

The marquis stammered the word and followed.

CHAPTER FIVE

“
We’re leaving in the morning, Bridget,” Gil said.

“
I’ve already had my townhouse prepared, Gillian, so don’t take that tone of voice with me.”

“I’ll take whatever tone—God! If anyone predicted my
wedded bliss, I’d have strangled him!”

“I’d like a bit of that whiskey, Gil, if you’re prepared to give some
up,” Bridget said. “And honestly, you’d think the thought of putting the town on its ears would bring a smile to your face.”

“I’ll smile, when, and if, the frost bitch decides she’ll play
along, and not one moment before.” He raised his bottle of MacGruder’s finest and downed such a stiff draught that his eyes
watered. Still, when he lowered the whiskey, Bridget’s crimson
bulk stood before him.

“I wish you’d stop calling her that,” she said. “She’s
tormenting herself enough, thank you.”

“I don’t particularly care how much she’s doing it. She’ll be
a damned sight
more
tormented when I get through with her.”

“Is that why you’re drinking yourself insensible?”

“Oh, I’m quite sensible, Bridget.” He lowered his feet to the floor
with a loud thud.

“Perhaps you’re not as drunk as I thought.”

“I’m much drunker than that, Bridget, my love.”

“Listen to me, Gil. I know why she won’t agree. It’s been
the devil’s own time getting her to open up, but I think—”

“I don’t give a parson’s ass what you think, Bridget!” Gil
stumbled to his feet and immediately banged his shoulder on the
door jamb.

“Gillian Tremayne, if you so much as approach her, I’ll—”

Gil turned and saluted with the bottle. “Why would I approach her now? I’m not much good to her in this condition.”
He laughed bitterly and turned to find the stairs.

It would’ve been easier to climb them if they hadn’t been
weaving so much. He pulled himself up the banister
hand-over-hand, and toward the top, on his knees.

Reginald had left just before Gil started drinking. This was his fault
. His taunts. He’d damned Gillian to visions of reddish-brown hair cascading over slim, white shoulders.

“Damn her, anyway.” Gil crawled along the forest-green carpet his Grandmama had brought back from the Orient. “Damn the
little frost bitch. Locking me out for three days. What the hell
would the Lord Tremayne want with the little frost bitch, anyway?”

It was odd, but the carpet led him right to her door. He didn’t stop to consider that bit of fate when his head struck wood.

“Oh, Brandy love,” he called. “It’s your dream man, come
to lay his head on your fine bosom.”

The door opened to his next head knock, and Mrs. Wright
glared down at him.

“Well, I never!”

He ignored her when he saw his little Brandy, sitting so
prim and proper in bed and looking shocked as Gil started
laughing again.

“Brandy! Love!”

“Get out!”

His Brandy wouldn’t yell at him like that, wreaking havoc with his mind. He shook his head, having forgotten the frost bitch
had taken over. He cursed his luck.

“Can I assist you with something, My Lord?”  Mrs. Wright
bent over to him, and he smiled.

“You can shut the bloody door on your way out.”

It seemed
someone had taken over his household, and he was tired of it.
Mrs. Wright didn’t obey. Instead, she looked at Brandy, as if she’d
rescind the order.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Wright. I can handle him. I’ve handled
far worse than one drunken lord.”

“If you’re sure, Mum.”

Mrs. Wright curtsied prettily, and Gil found that hysterically funny.

“What do you want, My...uh…Gil?”

Helene asked it after Mrs.
Wright shut the door behind her. Brandy was covering  herself with a robe. He didn’t want that,
and he told her so.

“I’ll wear what I like.”

He had enough sense to grab her when she came too close,
thanking his luck.

“Let me go!”

She was probably struggling, and he didn’t like that, but he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and told her of it.

“No Wait! You can’t carry me, Gil! You’ll fall!”

Wrong.

If she didn’t stop wailing in his ear, he’d go deaf. Somehow,
he judged the distance correctly, and they bounced on her soft,
lovely bed twice before stopping. His head kept bouncing, however, making
the room an interesting sight.

“Brandy-love, please. Stop struggling, damn it. I just want to love you.
I’ve always wanted to love....”

He was acting like a Hun again, but her lace negligee
wouldn’t open, and with the look she gave him, he didn’t care.

“Not this way, Gil. Please?”

Her throat tasted like he remembered, only sweeter, and he
told her that, too. And to his surprise, she quit struggling. It was a
good thing, too, because he could hardly get the clasp of his trousers undone with one hand while the other one held her.

“Oh, Brandy. Brandy. You won’t deny me, will you?”

He
wished she’d stop moving so he could focus on her brilliant
burgundy-shaded eyes.

“I...I wouldn’t stop you, Gillian. Somehow...I knew you’d be the one.”

The damn buttons wouldn’t give, so he gave up for the moment. There was time enough for that later after he had his fill
of her eyes. She had beautiful eyes. Deep. Bottomless. Fashioned for gazing into...

And then she kissed him, her mouth was so sweet that the
throbbing of his head nearly sent it off his shoulders. He held onto her, grinding his face into hers.

And that’s the last thing he remembered.

***

A band of traveling troubadours danced on his head. Gil did
the only thing he could — he howled at them to stop.

“Oh. So you’ve finally awakened to the world? I thought you’d sleep all day, which would’ve been fine with me.”

“Hush up,” he groaned, shoving his nose into a
jasmine-scented pillow.

“Hush up? Me? I thought we straightened that out ages
ago, My Lord.”

The frost bitch was dancing on the bed. The movement
almost made him retch.

“Get the hell out of my chamber, then!”

He ran a tongue along his teeth, checking for damage. Good. He hadn’t lost any. But how was that possible when he must have taken a blow that knocked him senseless?

She laughed with pure delight. He almost smiled. Of course, that would mean the agony in his head meant nothing,
and she wasn’t getting away with that.

“Didn’t you hear me?” He rolled over and covered his eyes
with a forearm. “And close the bloody drapes!”

“Oh! A fine one ye are, Me Lord. Just tumble poor little Brandy
an’ not even a ‘by-yer-leave’ to the deed.”

“Do what? To whom? Speak sense, will you? And where’s Witherspoon? Witherspoon!”

“As far as I know, it’s not acceptable for him to enter a
lady’s bedchamber, so you can cease the caterwauling.”

Gil groaned and sat up, hoping to find a place where the
world wasn’t rocking.

***

Helene held her breath and tried to stop staring. Impossible! It was strange enough having
him asleep in her bed, but she hadn’t realized he was without a stitch of clothing on his upper half, and his pants weren’t fully fastened. He was absolutely stunning
, even in that state, but she’d never say so. He had a large enough head already. He didn’t need to know she found him gloriously manly. Fit. F
or a gentleman of leisure, he had far too many muscles. H
is frame didn’t look to have an ounce of fat to it. Anywhere. That was odd. And visual.

Helene put her hands to her cheeks to cool them. When
that didn’t work, she closed her eyes. There was no other way to cease staring at him. And she needed her wits to work.

“What the hell? I’m in your bedchamber.” 

She opened her eyes. He was looking around. And frowning.

“I suppose that means I wasn’t very good. You’re ever so
flattering, My Lord.”

“Oh, Christ.” 

He stood and
Helene stifled the amusement. He looked so unstable, as if the slightest puff of wind would topple him
. It took some time to gain his balance, and there he stood, one arm wrapped about her bedpost. For stability.
Displaying way too much skin.

As if it was nothing.

Oh…heavens
! He’d ripped her nightgown down the front, nuzzled the
skin between her breasts, startling all sorts of reactions all through her, and yet not once had she noticed h
is nearly naked state?

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said. “Hand me a shirt or
something.”

“I’m afraid I don’t stock your size, My Lord. Perhaps one of
my robes would suffice? I daresay you’ll look entirely too
feminine, but some things just can’t be helped, can they?”

“You talk too much.” 

He groaned and fell back down, rocking the mattress with the move.
Helene giggled and faced his bleary gaze head-on. And then his eyes narrowed. And she held her breath.

“You don’t look ready for travel.”

“Of course not. We can’t possibly make London today, My Lord. You’ve
done slept the morn away, you have.” 

“Quit screeching. I can hear just fine. And London’s but three and a half
hours from here. Three, if I’m racing.”

“But…the marquis said it took you all night to get here.”

“Did he now? I don’t suppose he mentioned we got lost
twice in the bloody darkness, did he? That does tend to slow a man down.”

Her face fell. She felt every nerve.
It wasn’t amusing anymore.
“I’m sorry. I can’t go
with you, Gillian.”

“I’m not asking you to, love.”

He gave her the strangest smile and waited until she returned it. He wasn’t asking her to go to London with him? All that fuss for nothing?

“Thank God,” she whispered.

“So. Do you think you can talk Mrs. Hotchkins out of some coffee? Lots of it. Thick brewed. Black. Why…I think
I’ve taken a hankerin’ to your bed, love. It’ll take a stiff cup before I
can move.”

She watched him stretch out, putting all that man on display. He looked
glorious. It probably showed on her face. That’s why she ran to do his
bidding.

And that’s why his ruse worked. She’d been too bemused
by the sight of him half-clad in her bed to pay attention to
what he said. And how he meant it. He hadn’t been
asking
her anything, because he was finished with asking. And now he was ready to force it. She’d been given
half an hour to decide which it would be.

And she was just starting to trust him.  

“You look ever so lovely, My Lady.”

Mrs. Wright bobbed a
curtsy, while Helene looked her at her with raised brows.
Lovely?
With her scars?

“That color is perfect, too.”

“I thank you for saying so, Mrs. Wright.”

Helene looked about her chamber for any missed article, before realizing the obvious. What did it matter if she left something behind? She wasn’t going to be away long. She might be back in residence before nightfall. Because n
o one could pass off a face like Helene’s as a lady. Her husband, the grand Gillian Tremayne was a blind fool.

“You ready, darling?”

As if she’d called for him, Gil filled the doorway, looking a
different sight entirely from the previous night, when he’d crawled through that same portal and forced her...no. Wait. He wasn’t the type to force anyone.

What am I thinking?
She was being forced right now.

“Do I have a choice, My Lord?”

“My Lord?”

He walked toward her, coming within an arm’s length. She had to force her feet not to back from his advance.

“Fine. My Lord Gil, damn it!”

“Such language. Please. It’s just Gil, not Gil-damn-it.”

“I would’ve come down when called. You didn’t have to
come and fetch me, My Lord...Gil.”