Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (20 page)

“Yes, there is, darling — a very good reason. I’ll explain…but come. Our
dance is finished.”

He walked out the garden doors with her. She could tell
from the sounds behind them that not only was the dance still going
on, but their departure caused a bit of entertainment, too.

“Gillian, put me down!”

“Not until you stop damning me with your eyes. Do you
know what that does to me?”

“Wh…at?” 

Oh dear. Her voice not only warbled now, but she was stammering? It couldn’t get much worse.

“You’ve got very expressive eyes, Brandy love. I think I fell for
them the moment I saw them.”

“Gil...lian.”

She couldn’t breathe enough air to finish his name? She’d been wrong. That was worse.

“Please don’t interrupt. I...I’m having a bit of trouble with my
tongue. Should’ve taken Reg’s advice and quit....what time is
it?”

“Gillian Tremayne!”

She wriggled and slid from his arm,
surprised she didn’t fall the moment her feet touched ground.

“What now? Blast it, Helene! I’m trying to explain, and you
scream in my ear. And it’s all messed up. You’re angry because you’re beautiful. And I—I…w
hat should I apologize for again?”

“Gillian, don’t play with me. I can’t stand it.”

“Could we get some light in the garden, damn it?”

Gil lifted his head
and shouted into the night. Helene
put her hand over his mouth. He surprised her by
licking her palm. She yanked it back so quickly, she almost fell. And then
she stared. It wasn’t dark enough to keep from seeing him. And then he grinned. She could tell since his teeth gleamed even in the gloom. Her heart ticked up a notch.    

“What has gotten into you?” she asked.

“Some fine Scotch whiskey and a bit of cherry cordial the
last I recall.”

She smacked at his shirt front. “That’s not what I meant…and you know it. You hate me, remember? I’ve a lying tongue, and
you wouldn’t touch me if I were the last...woman....”

Her voice failed her. She couldn’t even
finish it. Damn everything!

“I hate you? Where’d you hear that? I’m beginning to think
you’re the one who’s foxed, Helene. Why just look. I’ve the biggest, nicest token
of my affection...just for you.”

He grabbed her before she could move, plastered a wet
mouth to the bridge of her nose, and held her against his hips.

“You’re the coarsest, most barbaric man of my acquaintance, Gillian Tremayne!”

“I missed.”

He said it against her cheek as he slid his mouth
to hers. Helene caught the gasp an instant before his kiss. And then so
me idiot found lanterns. Part of her noted it, but the rest was solidly experiencing how
Gillian breathed with her, his lips branding and owning and caressing hers. He held her right against his loins, too, making it
impossible to miss what he’d meant.

“Helene. Lovely Helene…how I adore you. Did you know that?
I adore your mind, your body. Your kisses. Your skin. Bridget was right, blast her.
Interfering damned female!”

He nuzzled words along her chin
.

“Bridget?” 

Was that breathless whisper really her?
He lifted his head away from her, and looked to either side of them
. And then he narrowed his eyes in a squint.

“What the hell? What fool lit those damn things?”

“I believe you ordered it,” she replied.

“I did? Christ. I’m more foxed than l thought. You will forgive it, though…won’t you?”

She giggled. His frown reached his mouth.

“Oh, Helene, please don’t laugh at me tonight. Please? I
don’t believe I’m sufficiently fortified for your particular way of
rejecting me. And I can’t drink any more to make it so.”

“Rejecting you? Oh Gillian. I’d never do that.”

“You always do, love. I come to you, put my male pride on
the table, and you hack it to ribbons. And that’s why
I teased you a little about your fair face. It was only fair.”

And then he kissed the scar below her eye and pulled back as if stung.

“Tears? What the hell are you crying for? Damn it, Helene,
just take a blade and shove it through me. But this time, do it proper. I’d prefer a quick death.”

“I’m sorry, Gillian.”   She swiped at her cheeks and sniffed.

“
You’re always bloody sorry. Doesn’t make it right.”

He was pouting. Oh heavens. She’d never seen anything so adorable.

“I’m crying because the things you’re saying are so
beautiful.”

She went on tiptoe to whisper it into his ear.
He held her away and lowered his head to look at from beneath his brows.

“You’re not funning?”

She shook her head.

“You cry…over something
like that?”

She nodded.

“And all this time, I thought you disliked the sight of me.”

“Oh, Gillian. Never that. I like the sight of you very much. Very much, indeed.”

“Are you blushing?” he asked.

“I’m trying very hard not to, since you’ll think it’s
another act.”

He grunted, and moved his attention to something beyond her head.

“You can release me now. Truly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll release you when I’m good and ready and not one moment before. Blast it,
anyway! If I let you go, Reginald will steal you.”

“What?”

“He said as much. At least I think that’s what he said. Or inferred.
I believe we’re meeting at dawn over it.”

“You’re...doing what?” 

“You don’t have to take my head off for it, damn it! I’m not even
sure what I said. I’m not exactly sure Reg heard it straight, let
alone agreed. And now you’re trying to deafen me?”

“Gillian. Look at me.”

Helene waited until he looked
down. For some reason, he didn’t look the least bit drunk, just
extremely wary. He regarded her for a several moments before moving his gaze to her left ear. Or thereabouts. And for some reason, he looked tense. As if preparing for
what
she might say.

“You’re not going to remember tomorrow what I say, and I’ll
take it to my grave if necessary, but…” 

Her tongue stumbled because he’d moved his attention back to her. And her heart was hitting her throat with an almost painful force. It was arduous to swallow. Impossible to think.  Difficult to draw breath.

“But…?” he prompted.

“I want you to m
ake love to me, Gillian. Right now.
Take me, and don’t ask questions I won’t be able to
answer. I know how to do it, but not with someone I—”

“Someone you what?” 

He stared at her so intently, and the hands holding her shook.

“Love,” she whispered.

Hard lips slammed against hers, accompanied by a solid groan. And then he was moving
so swiftly through the grounds, she couldn’t believe he could do
that while inebriated.

“‘Where are we going?” she asked, nuzzling her nose along his neck.

“There’s a summer porch around here somewhere. It’s…a gazebo thing
Mother had built. God damn it! It’s not that hard to find!”

“We’re not going…to my room?”

“Hell no. I’m not waiting another bloody minute. You?”

She shook her head.

“There it is, thank God!”

Helene glimpsed a railing, a soft cushion, and then Gil covering her with a smothering weight
.

“Oh Helene. Love. Sweeting. How much I’ve longed for this! Seeing my
Brandy...blast and damn this dress! Where does it fasten?”

“Hooks?”

“Not what. Where?”

His lips tormented, while his
fingers slid along her spine.

“The...side.”

“Side. Oh.”

His hands were instantly beneath her arm, his fingers slipping hooks free m
ore deftly than any lady s maid.

“Brandy. Love....”

The rest of it was murmured against her throat as
he eased her arms out of the dress. And Helene helped him, feeling night air that cooled and yet stimulated.

“A corset? You’ve got a bloody corset on?”

He fumbled with
the lacing before cursing more as he lifted from her.

“Yes.”

“You’ve not the least need for one, Madame. I’ll thank
you cease wearing them. It’s the least you
can do for your husband, isn’t it?”

“I...I think I can get it off, Gillian.”

“No time, damn it! I’m ready to burst here, and you’re bound into some
medieval contraption!”

She giggled, but it didn’t make a sound, because
his lips found hers, silencing everything but moans. And groans. And grunts. She felt him fumbling with his
trousers, before shoving at his
jacket.

“Ah, Helene. Almost there, darling. Ah…love.”

He was beneath her skirts, shoving aside her starched petticoat, and then
stopped when he came to the fine linen drawers under it all.

“I’m warning you now, Helene. I’ll give your bloody maid her walking papers if she ever puts so
much clothing in my way again!
Ah, Brandy. Love.”

She felt his erection against her thigh through her underthings and
instinctively pulsed into it. Him. Sliding her loins along it. And Gil started
shaking, making the structure beneath them rattle with it.

“All I want in this world is to be buried as far as I can in
your sweet flesh…and you’ve got to wear an entire damned closet!”

He panted through the words, his fingers causing all sorts of sensation as he caressed her through cloth.

“Rip it, Gillian!”

“But—”

“Rip it, or I will!”

More cursing, then the material gave. Heat and rigidity and an amazing amount of heat immediately
touched her, and then pain. Fire. Scorch.

“Gillian! Wait!”

“Ah, Brandy love. You’re so tight. So blasted small. Forgive me, d
arling. I can’t wait. I can’t…oh
love
!”

“You’re too big. Gil!”

He caught her cry with his mouth, sucking and licking and sending all sorts of sensations that helped mitigate the pain. And Helene helped, clinging to his
lips as he arched his back, shoving even deeper.

Why does it hurt? Sherry never said anything about such pain
.

“Wrap your legs about me, sweet. We’ll ease it a bit that way. Come on, love.”

His mouth slid along her chin and sucked on her throat after giving his instructions. He was giving her too many
sensations, in too many places, in all sorts of degrees. The lips at her throat shot sensation to
her breasts, while numbness overtook the pain
as he rocked rhythmically within her.

And she started matching it. Pacing with him. Thrilling to it.

“That’s it, love. Move with me now. That’s it.”

His caressing tone filled her ears, helping change the numbness to a
flurry of ever-building wonder. A roar started, filling her mind and ears with the crashing of waves. And still he rocked within
her, his hands helping move her, then something changed.

“Yes, Brandy, love! Yes. Yes, darling.”

She barely heard him through a rush of sensation that sparked to life within her, and started building. Intensifying. Escalating. Orchestrated by each thrust of his body into hers. Again. More. Harder.
His movements hardened simultaneous with his breathing, while
she clung, matching him gasp for gasp as he
pummeled his body into hers.

Then
she did something so obscene, she almost stiffened at the memory
—she made the same little moaning noises she’d damned Sherry
for, like little pleas for Gil to continue.

He did, thrusting so hard and rapidly that she was sucked
into the yawning chasm of wonder that opened up for her. Her mouth opened to suck for air, and keen out the cry while her heart beat within her breast like a caged thing. Ecstasy flashed through her, sent in lightning pulses, emanating from where they were joined to encompass every bit of her. Oh my! Oh heaven!