Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (28 page)

Helene wasn’t willing to be one of them. She didn’t know if she could survive the aftermath. The time that would come when Gillian Tremayne no longer lusted for her.

And set her aside.

Helene blinked rapidly on an influx of stupid tears. That’s why she didn’t dare tell him she loved him. When he did set her aside, it would be better that he didn’t know.

Just as he couldn’t know the
reason she looked for clothing
that would pass for a street urchin this morning. Helene Montriart Bingham Tremayne might be a touch mad, but she wasn’t insane. She couldn’t roam where she needed to in clothing that reeked of wealth and privilege the moment she went out.

“You’re up early, love.”

Gillian stretched beneath
the lace-edged sheets, and drat her eyes for being unable to look away!

“I...I couldn’t
sleep.”

“After all my…effort last night? Your compliments turn my head, darling. As usual.”

“I...I didn’t mean that.”

The blush made it suddenly easy to look away, and she did, except everywhere held too many memories. The
window with the drapery still slightly parted. That tapestry-covered settee. Even the walls tormented. T
here wasn’t anywhere in that cavernous room that was safe
.

“Of course you did. I’m under no illusions on that score.”

“But…I—”

“It isn’t easy for me, you know. I’ve got a lot of competition,” he interrupted her.

“It isn’t—what?”

“Competition. And I’m
using every bit of talent I possess toward it.”

“Toward…what?”

“Wiping every other man you’ve
ever had from your memory.”

“But, I—. Uh…” 

That time he didn’t need to interrupt. Her voice halted.

“And just look how greatly I must have failed. You don’t appreciate my skills one bit.”

He sighed and punched the pillow. She stifled a giggle as
feathers flew. It wouldn’t do if she laughed, especially with that
pout on his lips.

“
Well. You’ve certainly interrupted my sleep,
Madame
Tremayne,
and I don’t suppose there will be an explanation forthcoming? No? I don’t
know why I bother to ask.”

“If you must know, I’m trying to decide what to wear.”

“An excellent reason for waking your husband at.... Lord,
do you know what time it is? You’ve got me up before the birds!”

“I didn’t wake you.”

“Ah, but there you’re wrong, sweet.”

“But I did nothing. I’ve been tiptoeing around, making no noise
at all, Gillian Tremayne.”

“Which is highly suspicious…now that you mention it.”

And then he sat up, damn him. He had to cheat in
order to argue. She watched him link his fingers together atop his upraised knees as he regarded her.

“Suspicious?” 

Thank goodness her voice worked, although she had to swallow first.

“Yes. Suspicious. You. Sneaking around and rifling my trunks. And that’s even more unusual. I don’t have anything in
your size.”

She looked down at the shirt she wore and back at him. And then lifted her chin.
“I can explain.”

“No doubt you can. It’s one of the things I find so entertaining
about you.”

“Well, uh. I...I was cold.”

His eyebrows rose and he pursed his lips. She made the
stupid move of crossing her arms defensively before her chest. And she knew better.

“I suppose you want me to believe you find it warmer
outside the bedding, rather than inside…wrapped in my arms?”

That was unfair. Reminding her of how she’d awakened.
Gil hadn’t let her move all
night, and it hadn’t been as conducive to sleeping as it was to
letting her mind wander through several fantasies. 

“I had to…uh…visit the...water closet.”

“Really? And that’s of such
distance, you had to rifle my wardrobe and don my shirt, making so much clatter, it woke me
?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Really? You do seem to have failed, then.”

He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head as he surveyed her, but the sheet didn’t make the move. Oh! That was fighting dirty. She could hardly continue to face him and not note where the lace edge met his stomach.

“I can’t help it...if you’re such a...a…”

He waved his hand and waited for her to finish. And then he lifted a knee and the traitorous sheet slid! Helene had to look over his head.  

“If you manage to finish that, it should prove
decidedly entertaining. And in the interim, I’ll just fill in the blanks with my imagination.”

“It wasn’t that!”

“No?” 

He arched his back in a stretch before relaxing back into position. And damn her eyes for following every bit of it. And worse. He knew it. His next words were proof.

“Why, Helene. The sight of me still bothers you?
Fancy that. And here I thought you so bored, you not only rise from my side even before daybreak, but waken me as well. And for what? To rifle my clothing.”

“I can’t help it if you’re a light sleeper.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. I can sleep through almost anything. Normally.
”

He stretched again, and she gasped and actually backed a step.
If Gil had just one scar on him, one deformity, one misshapen portion, anything that might alter how the sight of him locked her tongue, quickened her breathing, and scrambled her wits, it would be fair. One tiny little imperfection. Anything.  

He finished the motion and snagged the sheet, veiling what was impossible to
forget, and then rolled to his side to face her, propping his head on an upraised arm. And all she did was stand there. Rooted to the spot. Watching.

“Well, sweeting…looks like we’ve eliminated your first lie today,” he
said. “Let’s see if we can make it two, shall we?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“My shirt?”  He gestured with his free hand
.

“I told you — I was cold.”

“And I’ve already pointed out the impossibility of that, considering how
warm I kept you. Please don’t try to bluster your way out of it, either.
I’ve almost got you figured — finally.”

“You haven’t a clue!”

“Is that a challenge?”  He tossed the sheet off.

“No!”

Of all the horrid things to happen. Her voice even squeaked. He grinned before replacing the covering.    

“I do believe I’ll have to hand it to my aunt, Bridget. She really was right,” he commented.

“You said that before. I didn’t know what it meant the
first time. I still don’t.”

“I did? When?”

Helene held a quick flash of pain close and did her best to keep it from her voice. “
You said it at
your mother’s ball, My Lord.”

A glance showed how unsure he looked of a sudden. She watched him slide a fingernail along the bed linen before him. He addressed his words to the invisible swirls he was making.

“I’ve been told I said quite a few things. I
have no way to ascertain the truth. I might’ve been barbaric and rude, or I could’ve been a perfect
gentleman. But you wouldn’t admit it, would you? Because you’d be without ballast to your argument.”

“You weren’t the least bit gentlemanly, My Lord.”

He frowned in thought. “I wasn’t? Now that I think on it, I
recall a bit of a turn about the dance floor. I was dancing with you, wasn’t I?”

“Perhaps.”  She shrugged and watched his frown deepen
.

“You stepped on my toes, too. I remember that! You did, didn’t you?”

“I step on everyone’s toes when I dance.”

“Did I rip your gown?”

Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Nothing
came out for a bit.

Helene?”

“I already said how ungentlemanly you were, and here you
go, mucking up the particulars.”

“Would you give them to me if I asked?”

Give him the truth about the
gazebo? She shook her head.

“Not even if I ask…especially nicely?”

It was her turn to lift an eyebrow, and she did, trying to
ignore the distinct pout on his kissable lips. She wondered if
there was ever a time when Gillian Tremayne didn’t get his way.

“What if I just toss aside all caution and confess I wasn’t quite as drunk as I could’ve been, Helene. What would you say to that?”

If she didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn he’d altered. Changing from an indolent posture to one that was tense. Locked in place. Unmoving. Not even to breathe. But it
couldn’t be. T
here was a glint in his light
blue eyes as he snagged and held her gaze. And then she capitulated.  

He didn’t play remotely fair.

“Oh! All right, you win.”  She tossed her hands up. “I was trying to find
something to wear so I could visit Brandy’s old lodgings. That’s the reason I was up and that’s the reason I’m in your shirt. But you’re the reason I have to lie in the first place. I can’t
possibly tell you what I’m doing, because you don’t believe any of it exists.”

Helene began undoing the buttons as she talked, not daring
to look at how he took the news.
Gil didn’t make a sound as she shed his shirt and pulled on
her under-garments until she couldn’t pretend anymore that his silence wasn’t bothering her. She glanced at the bed, but he
wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he gazed at his locked hands. The
knuckles were white with the pressure he exerted.

Was he angry? But why? He didn’t truly e
xpect her to stick to the lies she told at Dover, did he? After dragging her to
what was left of Chateau
Montriart? Surely he didn’t think that reaction had been an act?

“I’m sorry I lied to you at Dover, Gillian.”

“What?” 

“I’m telling
the truth now.”

“Truth seems to have an entirely different definition for you
than the rest of the world, Helene. And I’ve tired of asking. I don’t need any more stories. If you like
wearing my shirts –  and I don’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate the view –  then you have my permission to wear as many as you like. Who knows? You might even shock a Parisian or two.”

“You’re insulting.”

“Of course. It’s what I do best.”

His nonchalant grin baited her as much as his words.
Meanwhile, she was having trouble with her petticoats. It wasn’t a good time to argue, but she couldn’t resist pointing out the
obvious.

“Barbarism is what you do best, Lord Tremayne.”

“So I’ve been told. Shall we put it to the test,
Madame?
I, for one, find a morning tryst much better accomplished when I’m
not suspicious of every nook and cranny about me, but if you insist, I’ll be more than happy
to accommodate you.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

It was difficult enough to face him while her fingers
stumbled with ties at her waist, but that was her own fault. She
hadn’t rung for the maid, and Gillian probably wouldn’t let her,
since he probably enjoyed watching her fumble-fìngered attempts.

“Do I now?”  He slid from under the sheets, and Helene couldn’t have closed her eyes if she wanted to as he walked toward
her. “I seem to recall that you request it quite often. ‘Rip it, Gillian, or I will!”

Her eyes widened as he mimicked her words from their first
lovemaking. She didn’t move. She didn’t think she could draw her next breath. She didn’t dare
look at any other
part of him, so she stared at the floor.

“I’m unfair, aren’t I?” he whispered.

“Someone...may be watching,” she answered.

“More than bloody likely. I wonder what they want, don’t you? I
doubt it has much to do with me. I’m not the one
Madame
Josephine requested to see today, am I? Not that she’ll be serving
tea or anything I like. Still, the French do brew an
excellent cup of coffee, don’t they?”

“Madame…Josephine…wants…to see…
me
?”  Every word was stuttered and shook.

“Really, darling…you should pay more attention.”

“When?”